


Shades of Gold, Grey and Black

by LadyVictoriaBlackfyre



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jon Snow is called Aegon Targaryen, OC Starks, R Plus L Equals J, Royals, Sansa is daughter of Jon Arryn, Targaryens want their throne back, Tyene's mother was a Blackfyre, Uprising, War, eventual Daenerys as Princess of Dragonstone, eventual King Jon Snow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-07-27 16:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16223330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyVictoriaBlackfyre/pseuds/LadyVictoriaBlackfyre
Summary: Instead of dancing with Ashara Dayne at the Tourney of Harrenhal, Ned Stark danced with Cersei Lannister. How would something a small as a change of dance partners impact the game of thrones?





	1. The Tourney at Harrenhal

**Author's Note:**

> A/N obviously this is an AU as Ned did not marry Cersei in cannon; also I am aware that Lord Tywin did not attend Harrenhal’s Tourney in cannon, but for the sake of this fic, he will. Characters will be a bit OOC as they are their young selves to begin with, unchanged by their hard lives, and also as their lives and events in their lives will have changed.
> 
> Main pairings: Ned/Cersei, Jon/Tyene, Daenerys/Stark OC and more

Chapter 1 – the Tourney at Harrenhal

Eddard Stark, also known as ‘the Quiet Wolf’, shifted in his seat as he watched his tall, handsome, charming older brother grin at the blushing Lady Ashara Dayne, her bright purple eyes sparkling in joy at the Heir to Winterfell.

Though Ned would not admit it, he thought the Lady Ashara to be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, with dark, cascading hair in slight waves, beautiful porcelain skin and Valyrian eyes. In the North, most women – and men – had dark brown hair and grey eyes, features that Ned himself had, so to him, Ashara was an exotic beauty.

He was not surprised, however, that she was in the arms of his brother. Brandon had quickly picked up on Ned’s liking of the Lady Ashara, and, like a python, had struck; as if he needed to prove to Ned any further that Brandon Stark could have any woman he wanted. Including the ones that Ned wanted.

Guilt settled in Ned’s stomach when he saw the lonely Lady Catelyn, the pretty red-head staring wistfully at Brandon; abandoned. Ned couldn’t help but feel responsible for his brother’s betrothed’s sadness, for Brandon was trying to prove a point to him. 

The second Stark brother jumped as he heard a cough in front of him. He looked up to see a woman of golden blonde hair held in tight curls, emerald green eyes gleaming at him expectantly. She was, perhaps, just as, if not more, beautiful than the Lady Ashara, with her slender, graceful figure of which her scarlet dress accented the delicate curves of, and clear, creamy pale skin. But her expression slightly unnerved Ned, the calculating gleam in her eyes making him feel more like an experiment and less like a person.

She gazed at him expectantly, before, finally, saying, “well, Lord Stark, are you going to ask me to dance?”

Her tone held a confidence that he knew that he could never muster, her smile a smirk, growing as he took her hand and began to lead her to the dance floor. 

His nerves ate at him as he did so. He hadn’t danced since his mother’s last nameday, four years past; which had been two days before she’d died. However, when they began it was clear that Cersei was more than efficient herself, easily leading as he once again grasped at the steps that soon came back to him.

“You are not a bad dancer, Lord Stark,” the woman stated, smiling charmingly at him in a way that drew his stormy eyes to her ruby coloured lips. He gulped. He refused to allow himself to be like Brandon.

“You are far superior in such a skill,” Ned began, deciding to take a not-so-wild guess as to her identity. Only a Lannister would wear a dress as red as hers, and have only gold jewellery adorning it, “Lady Lannister.”

She smiled at his deduction, just as he twirled her around. Ned’s cheeks heated up when he felt Brandon’s gaze upon him, his older brother no doubt making his own deductions, “you may call me Cersei, Lord Stark.”

“Then you may call me Ned, Cersei,” the last word he tested out upon his tongue. It was a nice name, he decided, before his eyes turned to where his sister, the Queen of Love and Beauty, was laughing at something Prince Rhaegar said as they danced. The Prince seemed entranced by the only Stark girl, as she twirled and giggled, dancing completely out of time but owning it. 

Ned found his teeth clenching. His sister may be happy in the arms of the Prince, but she could never have him. The man was married.

He looked back to see Cersei staring at them with a frown, her eyes clearly displaying hurt. Ned recalled that, at one point, it was thought that the Lady Cersei Lannister would wed the Crown Prince, and that she had been infatuated by him; only for King Aerys to choose the Princess Elia.

“I’m sorry,” Ned stated earnestly, causing the woman’s bright eyes to snap back to him, displaying confusion, forced indifference, and with a mouth ready to open in denial, “I know that you… cared for him.”

Instead, Cersei nodded stiffly, keeping her eyes completely focused away from them, and staring deeply into Ned’s own. He found himself getting lost in the depths of green, noticing how her eyes grew lighter as they got closer and closer to the iris, how much they truly resembled the emerald stone. He wonder how such a jewel would look upon her slender, elegant neck; how it would glisten against her creamy skin.

He felt himself getting pulled in, lost within her eyes. 

They were suddenly startled a part when they announced that Crown Prince Rhaegar would be playing a song. Ned and Cersei sat together at one of the many tables, the same one as his sister Lyanna and his younger brother Benjen. Brandon had left with the Lady Ashara, but Ned found that he did not care; only feeling disappointment that his brother was with another woman other than his betrothed, when Lady Barbrey had already had his bastard son.

As Rhaegar’s tune went on, a song of a man in love with a woman who could never be his, a song that Ned couldn’t help but place Lyanna within, as the man, Ned slowly built up his courage. Neither he nor Cersei was betrothed, so what harm could taking her hand do? After several more seconds of mental pep talk, Ned grasped Cersei’s hand, who threaded her fingers through his and offered him a genuine smile.

Ned could hardly contains his own smile, laughing more merrily than he normally would when Lyanna poured wine all over Benjen’s head for teasing her for crying over the Prince’s song. His beautiful, wild sister was not the only one crying, however.

As the night drew on, Ned and Cersei spent much time together, but nothing had surprised him more than when, as the festives were drawing to a close, she leant in and whispered to him to come to her bed chamber.

Neither of the two noticed the watchful eyes of Lord Tywin Lannister upon them, as Cersei left, and as Ned soon, but hesitantly, followed. 

-

When Cersei Lannister had first arrived at Harrenhal, her mind had been set upon charming the Heir to Winterfell: Brandon Stark, away from his Tully bride-to-be. As it happened, he didn’t need to be charmed away, more than content to leave the woman for any pretty face, such as Lady Ashara Dayne, Lady Shiera Whent and Lady Rose Roxton.

From what she had observed, the eldest Stark brother was rash, quick-tempered and didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. She had no doubt that, if it came to it, Brandon Stark would perish in an upcoming war, be it from him rashly charging into battle or mouthing off to the point that it lost him his head.

His younger brother on the other hand, the stony-faced Quiet Wolf, was more mindful, intelligent and observant. In a war, he would plan and be sure of his movements, how they would benefit his house and defend his family.

Cersei would be lying if she said that that was the only reason why she was taken with the Quiet Wolf. He was charming in his own way, when his stony façade slid slightly and he allowed himself a small smile; when he looked at her as if she were the only woman in the room. Perhaps she had been rash, when she had invited him to her bed. Lord Tywin had told her so, Jaime had told her so; but she hadn’t cared. She was young, and besotted.

Tywin had eventually came around, none the less, when she had pitched her ideas that Lord Brandon would not survive the upcoming war – the one that they all knew was coming – and then she, Cersei Lannister, would be the Lady of the North, whom presided over the largest section of all of Westeros.

With Tywin Lannister’s ambitious eyes gleaming, he told her that he sincerely hoped that she was right, before leaving after she told him of her plans to be with child; then her honourable partner would have no choice but to marry her to save her honour.

Though, in truth, their late night trysts were less for such a reason that they were for passion. Be he a cold man of the north, Cersei still found him a wonderful lover; and she had been more than pleased when he had been curious, but not angry, and her lack of virginity.

At the end of the eight day of their meeting, it was time for everybody to leave, for the Tourney had lasted the final of it’s ten days.

Ned and Cersei met up in one of their secret places, behind the Widow’s Tower; Ned whom had wrapped his arms firmly around Cersei’s waist, holding her against him tightly as the two gazed at one another,

“I do not want to leave you,” Cersei informed him, placing a fleeting kiss upon his lips; leaving Ned longing for more.

“It will not be for long,” Ned promised, giving her one of his rare, wide smiled, “for I will ask my father for permission to marry you.”

“I should hope so,” Cersei told him, looking up at him through her lashes, “for there is a high chance I may be with child.”

Ned looked at her in utter surprise, and Cersei almost regretted her words. She had not lied to him. Lannisters were known as fertile, and as they had had sex many times, many nights it was not such a far stretch to theorise. She may have exaggerated, perhaps, but not only did she want to marry Ned; but she also had to prove to her father that all her efforts were, indeed, for something.

“Truly?” He inquired, staring from her face to her stomach in wonder; she truly hoped that her words were correct as she confirmed:

“Truly.”

He sighed, and kissed her upon the forehead, shining grey eyes closing as he did so before promising her: “we shall be wed before two moons have passed, we shall say that the babe is born early when it comes; all shall be done honourably.”

Though tempted to role her eyes at Ned’s constant referral to honour, Cersei smiled softly at his promise, pulling him in by his jerkin to a passionate kiss, to where hands admired the sculptures of bodys, and tongues fought for dominance – a battle in which case Cersei liked to think she let Ned win – before they both broke a part, breathless.

“I will see you soon, My Lady.”

-

Upon hearing from his son of the Lady Cersei Lannister’s (possible) pregnancy, Lord Rickard Stark had swiftly sent his son West to wed the lioness, unwilling to allow yet another of his sons be renowned for sleeping around and having bastards.

Ned had been more than contented to do so and, only six weeks after their parting at Harrenhal, he was at Casterly Rock, to where Cersei arrived with a large smile; not only for the fact that her lover (and her chance to rule the North) was back but also because she had, indeed, missed her periods that normally came as efficiently as clockwork.

Her father had nodded at her in slight respect for how well her plan had worked out as he took Cersei’s arm, father and daughter both heading towards Casterly Rock’s Godswood. Due to Cersei’s faith lying with the Seven, and Ned’s with the Old Gods it had swiftly been decided that they would wed once in an Old God’s ceremony and then have their marriage witnessed under the Seven later that day.

Cersei had been more than determined to have the grandest wedding dress of all, certainly she wanted it to be more grand than whatever Brandon’s bride to be would wear. She decided on a golden dress, ignoring the customary shades of white as she was not marrying in the light of the Seven currently, she had a different, and just as extravagant, gown for such an event. 

Her golden dress had lace sleeves and more lace over her lighter gold bodice, it was tight around the waist and accented her curves; it puffed out at the waist, held by a crinoline to where ruffles of pure gold silk travelled all the way to the ground, a long drain of the same material following after her. Upon her neck was a necklace with a golden chain that had a mass emerald stone upon the end of it; Ned had bought it for her when he had travelled West, informing her that emeralds had been his mother’s favourite gem. Cersei found that she favoured it too, along with the ruby.

Upon her head, she boldly held a golden tiara. Those who weren’t royals were not meant to wear tiaras, but Cersei’s Lannister pride cared not for such a custom, and the tiara supported the golden, but see-through, veil that fell over her face.

She only spared a fleeting thought for her dress train, which she truly hoped her female cousins were holding high enough to not dirty it as they travelled towards the twisted weirwood tree, as she soon caught sight of Ned. 

He was staring at her the way he had stared at her at Harrenhal, the way he always stared at her, as if she were the only woman in the room; the only woman he cared for in the slightest. Soon enough, she was standing beside him, her father passing her over to Ned with the customary words, before her veil was pulled back and she was left to stare, uninterrupted, into Ned’s adoring gaze.

She smiled, eyes never leaving his as her maiden cloak was removed and the symbol of the Stark’s of Winterfell replaced it. She was Lady Cersei Stark now, and, if all played out as she hoped, she would soon be the Lady of Winterfell to boot. 

She caught her father’s eyes, and saw the same want in his eyes. For his daughter to rule the largest realm in all of Westeros, and she avoided Jaime’s eyes. His green eyes, that matched hers, had sent her begging looks often, wishing her not to marry Ned, to stay with him.

If she wanted to make a future for herself, she could not be with Jaime. If they would be found, they would be exiled by the faith and probably from all of Westeros. They could not continue what they had divulged in before Harrenhal. 

Turning to Ned, they joined their lips to end the ceremony; and Cersei could not shake the feeling that this was the calm before the storm.

-

Ned Stark was travelling North with Cersei by the time the new had reached. They had stopped off at the Vale, slightly out the way but Ned had wanted to see his foster father and brother – Jon Arryn and Robert Baratheon - before he went home to the North.

When Robert had eyed Cersei most appreciatively, Ned had sent him a warning glance, and his foster brother had merely laughed, informing Ned that he knew his boundaries, even if Cersei was one of the most beautiful women he had had the pleasure of meeting. Ned had laughed at the idea of Robert knowing ‘boundaries’, he was like Brandon in that way; neither of them would be told, or knew themselves, when to stop.

It was there that the news of Lyanna’s kidnapping not ten leagues from Harrenhal had greeted them, and Ned had stormed through the Vale and to his horse at the news, set to find his sister. Jon and Cersei had both raced after him, refusing to allow him to go.

Ned adored his little sister, who was a force of nature. She was wilful and beautiful and stubborn, filled with what the Stark’s called ‘wolf blood’.

Perhaps, Ned knew, she did not know the meaning of duty, that she did not give into what society dictated; but he loved her, in fact, he loved her more for it. She was everything that he couldn’t dare to be, had bravery that he had trouble mustering.

And now some privileged Prince had kidnapped her on her way to Brandon’s wedding. Ned ignored the voice inside him that disputed her unwillingness, she had never wanted to marry Robert – the very man who was beside him now, ready to ride around all of Westeros for the woman he thought he loved, the one he loved only for her beauty and the idea of her – but would she truly disappear, leave them all, because of it?

Jon and Cersei, in the end, convinced them to wait a week. If Lyanna was not returned by then, the whole thing proclaimed a great misunderstanding, then he could go after her. Cersei’s hand, resting upon her growing stomach, had convinced him to wait just a little bit longer, hope that he would not have to leave his wife and the child that had been in her womb for three moons now.

However, instead of the next letter from King’s Landing being of Lyanna’s safe return, it was a call for Jon Arryn to decapitate all of his guests: Eddard Stark, Robert Baratheon, and even Cersei Stark, the latter for within her she held another wolf. And King Aerys had decided he wanted the wolves all dead.

After all, the letter also contained the information that Brandon Stark and Lord Rickard Stark had been murdered in the capitol, meaning that Eddard was now the Lord of Winterfell.

Cersei’s joyous mood at being the Lady of Winterfell was swiftly dampened when Ned had come to their bedchambers that night, tears in his eyes and telling her of how he did not think himself efficient enough. That he was not as handsome, as charming, as convincing as Brandon; that he would never be as good a Lord as Brandon would be.

Cersei had held him as he cried for his sister and brother and father and the whole load of responsibility that now fell upon his shoulders, making her feel all the more guilty for her momentary rejoice. 

She cradled his head and sang to him as he began to fall asleep in her comforting arms; for she knew all too well that come the morrow, with Jon Arryn refusing to behead his guests, he would be preparing, and then heading, to war.

That night, the small family slept. Ned’s arms holding Cersei close, as if she were his life line; Cersei with one hand within her husband’s dark brown hair and the other upon her stomach, where hers and Ned’s child was growing.

Elsewhere, a dark haired, grey eyed woman closed her eyes, moving closer to her Dragon Prince as she felt a tear fall down her cheek, guilt pooling in her stomach about how her family were surely feeling because of her disappearance; and of how she might as well have been her father and brother’s murderer.


	2. A Nation at War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which: Ned Stark, Jon Arryn and Robert Baratheon go to war; the rebels strike an alliance with Hoster Tully for two Lords to wed his daughters; Battles are fought; and Cersei Lannister gives birth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N I don’t know how exactly they track months in Game of Thrones/ASOIAF world but here’s where I’m putting the dates to assist mine, and your, understanding of it all:
> 
> 10-20th April 282 – Tourney at Harrenhal  
> 31st March 282 – Cersei and Ned’s wedding  
> 19th April 282 – the ‘kidnapping’ of Lyanna Stark  
> 23rd April 282 – Ned is told of his sister’s kidnapping  
> 30th April 282 – Brandon Stark arrives at King’s Landing; Rickard Stark is summoned  
> 15th May 282 – deaths of Rickard and Brandon Stark  
> 22nd June 282 – taking of Gulltown  
> 29th September 282 – Battles at Summerhall  
> 11th December 282 – Battle of Ashford  
> 21st December 282 – birth of Artos Stark  
> 3rd March 283 – Battle of the Bells  
> 9th June 283 – Battle of the Trident  
> 31st August 283 – Battle at the Mander  
> 1st October 283 – Sack of King’s Landing  
> 14th November 283 – end of the Siege of Storm’s End  
> 1st December 283 – Battle of the Tower of Joy  
> 1st December 283 – birth of Aegon Targaryen (the younger) AKA Jon Snow  
> 21st June 284 – birth of Daenerys Targaryen  
> More dates will be added in future chapters.

Chapter 2 – A Nation at War

True to what Cersei Lannister had thought that night, her grieving husband within her arms, Ned, Robert and Jon had spent the rest of the very next day plotting for war; and, within a week, Houses Arryn, Stark and Baratheon had rose their flags against the crown.

Cersei was left in the Vale, protected by Ser Denys Arryn, a distant cousin of Lord Jon Arryn’s, while Ronnel Arryn ruled the Vale in his older brother’s absence. 

She had never felt more cut off or isolated than during that time, for she and Ned were allowed to talk nothing of the war in their letters, in fear of the ravens being intercepted, so she had little idea where he was or what he was doing or if he was safe until news of a battle reached the Eyries walls.

She found herself fearing for him, for she knew that he would go after Lyanna if given the opportunity; in which case he would surely meet in combat with the Kingsguards that had followed Rhaegar, or even the Prince himself. Cersei knew that the Prince, though skilled at a sword, despised bloodshed, but that did nothing to ale her worries.

The only other person she regularly wrote letters to was her father. He had sent a congratulations upon the news of his grandchild, and with it prayers of her baring the Stark name an Heir, but spoke little more. He was too preoccupied with Jaime, who would no longer speak to her under the circumstances they left in.

Most nights, she would dismiss her young Ladies, daughters of people in high stations of the running of the Eyrie that had been swiftly summoned by Jon Arryn, and simply lay upon her bed, a hand upon her stomach.

Perhaps she didn’t love Ned yet, she was fond of him, she cared for him, but she had only known him a few short months; but she already loved this baby. She had loved it the moment that she felt it’s first kick, when she had excitedly called for the Lady Alyssa Belmore – Lord Ronnel’s wife – so that she might share with someone her joy.

Her father, she knew, would have called her actions childish, but her excitement had allowed her to do nothing less. 

But through the excitement, she couldn’t help but feel the fear setting in. Her mother had died in childbirth, giving birth to Tyrion none the less. She could die too. 

Sighing, not for the first time, Cersei blew out the candle at the side of the bed and turned over, resolving herself to fall asleep swiftly, so that she may be a day closer to the war’s end.

-

Ned Stark closed his eyes and turned away from the piles and piles of corpses to the right, only to open them and find there was even more to the left. The stench of flesh and blood filled the air, as some men, barely alive, called out for help but were soon taken to their deaths as well.

The Battles of Summerhall had been four battles fought in one day, resulting in rebel victory as their forces won three out of four of the battles, yet Ned knew that there was many battles left to fight.

Robert spent the night after celebrating in one of the Stormlands’ finest taverns, drinking and whoring and making Ned feel sick as he thought of how it had been his idea to try to wed Lyanna to his friend Robert, how he had brought the proposal back to their father.

Lyanna had always said that if she was to wed, she wanted to be with a man who loved her and wanted only her; and Robert was the offering. His love was merely words, and his want strayed from whores to farmer’s wives and would never lie solely with Lyanna.

If he found her, Ned promised himself, he would find a way to get her out of that marriage to Robert; even if it meant betraying his friend.

Often, he found his thoughts straying to his wife, isolated within the Eyrie, but protected, and their child that grew within her; that would more than likely be born while he was at war. They had talked of names already, but that did not make him feel any better.

“You will go to the Riverlands next, Ned, with Jon,” Robert informed them, whilst laughing as one of the women offered him a sultry grin as she placed his ale before him, “to get a treaty with Lord Hoster, no matter the cost.”

Ned nodded, knowing the might of the Riverlands was more than necessary for their cause. Even if they were winning now, if the royalists got their strategies in check then they could best them, especially considering that they had more than a few thousand extra men.

Deciding that he needed to sleep well that night, for it was to be a long ride in the coming days, he left the main area of the tavern, ignoring Robert’s protests and calls for him to stay longer and enjoy himself, and headed up to his rooms.

There, he sat upon his desk, deciding to write a letter to Cersei, asking her of her and the child’s wellbeing and how the Eyrie was treating her, before he would blow out his candles and turn in for rest.

-

“You would like me to join your rebel cause, without proof of your ties to the Tullys of the Riverlands?” Lord Hoster Tully inquired, from where he sat within his entrance hall, the fair Lady Catelyn and Lysa Tully to one side, and young Lord Edmure to the other. 

Lady Catelyn was as pretty as she had been at Harrenhal, with her long auburn hair, pale skin and shining blue eyes, she seemed to watch the meeting with understanding in her eyes. Ned had heard of how Lord Hoster gave his eldest daughter the responsibilities of Lady Tully after his wife, Minisa, had died, his father had informed Brandon of such, proclaiming she would be the perfect Lady Stark.

While not as fair as her elder sister, Lady Lysa was still easy upon the eye, with the same auburn hair as her older sister, blue eyes, slender and had a becoming smile.

“What would you have such a tie be, Lord Tully?” Ned heard Jon reply, even though they both knew what the answer would be. After Brandon had died, it had left Catelyn unbetrothed and Lysa was not either; meaning that Hoster had two daughters he wanted advantageous marriages for.

Lord Tully smiled slightly, before beckoning Catelyn and Lysa forward, “for this alliance to go forth, I would wish for my eldest daughter – Catelyn Tully – to be wed to yourself, Lord Arryn; and for my daughter Lysa to be married to Lord Baratheon when he returns from war. To prove that you will keep up this deal, I see it only fit for you to wed Catelyn before we leave for the next battle. I hear Lord Robert has recently won the Battle of Ashford.”

Ned knew that Jon had no choice but to concede, after all, Robert had informed them to make the deal no matter the cost; Ned could only assume that that would even mean giving up Lyanna. In fact, that made Ned only want to close the deal even more – whilst feeling guilt for his selfishness – as then Lyanna would be free of what tied her down, then, perhaps, when he found her then she would come home.

“What of Lyanna?” Jon Arryn tried, “Robert Baratheon has been betrothed to her for years, and I am an old man, surely there is a better match for your young daughter.”

“I am sure that Robert’s betrothal can be broken for something as urgent as a war alliance, yes, Lord Stark?” Ned nodded, and the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands continued, “and you are Lord Paramount of the Vale of Arryn, Lord Jon, I can see no better a match for my eldest daughter.”

He closed his eyes, trying to push down the part of him that was glad when Jon Arryn, albeit reluctantly, accepted the deal that Lord Hoster Tully proposed.

-

Cersei Lannister quelled her fear during the day, she refused to show any weakness in front of the inhabitants of the Vale of Arryn, but of a night, when it was just her and her sweet child, she allowed it to settle upon her. A lion did not show the sheep’s their fear.

She was but a fornight off of being nine moons gone, and the child kicked and kicked and was more active by the day. Her mother had once told her that she and Jaime had been kickers as well, though Joanna had presumed it was more her rebellious daughter than Jaime.

It was a constant reminder that this child, her child, was half lion and half wolf; the ultimate predator. Oh, how their family would rise; of that she was determined.

Suddenly, Cersei felt a sharp pain in her womb, and felt herself bend over, knocking a – thankfully unlit – candle off of her bed side in the process. 

And then she felt something wet pooling beneath her. Her heart felt a fear unlike any other she had ever felt before, afraid that she had miscarried her darling child, before she looked down to see that it was clear.

Her waters had broke early.

Quickly, she called out desperately for help, and soon enough her chamber was invaded by all sorts of people bustling about, leading her over to the bed, the mid wife ordering her to lie down on her back, legs apart. The babe was on it’s way.

As the contractions got more and more intense, she willed herself not to scream; only eventually, she could not help but do so. For a moment, she could not help but feel angry that the child was causing her such pain, but then she remembered all the love she had felt for it these passing months. The child was not to blame. Not like Tyrion was.

“Push, My Lady,” the midwife urged as Cersei tried and tried, the babe seemed eager to meet the world, for it was to be a fast labour if the midwife was to be believed; yet that didn’t make it any less painful.

“One more push,” the woman urged as Cersei closed her eyes, clawing at the bed sheets in her pain.

Cersei pushed, and pushed again, and the midwife said once more, “one more push.”

“You said that last time,” Cersei spat out as she clenched her eyes shut in pain, “and I’d like to see you try.”

The midwife gave her a dead look, “I’ve pushed out eight of my own, Lady Stark, now push.”

Three more pushes, and three more screams, and a screech met the air. Cersei fell back in relief for but a second, before her exhausted gaze swiftly moved up to where the babe was being cleaned, she inquired, “is it alright?”

“He is perfectly healthy, Lady Stark,” the midwife informed her, the dark skinned woman’s – from the Summer Isles, perhaps - lips turning up into a kind smile for the woman in front of her, and handed the babe to her.

Cersei looked down at the small child, marvelling at him. He had the dark brown hair of the North, and Ned’s long face and strong jaw, with her creamy pale skin, high cheekbones. When he opened his eyes, Cersei was staring into blue eyes. For a moment, she was thrown as she had green eyes and Ned grey, before remembering that a babe’s eyes changed, they were born with either blue or brown.

She herself was born with blue, so she had no doubt that her son’s eyes would soon be the mirror image of her own.

She smiled at him, feeling love growing in her chest intensely, she had never felt anything like it; never loved someone so much, not even her mother, whom she had mourned for for years.

Unwillingly, she felt tears sliding down her cheeks as the babe blinked at her, his eyes upon her mother’s face. She kissed his head, a few of her tears slipping onto his dark brown hair, as she murmured, “my beautiful boy.”

She and Ned had chosen two boys and two girls names names they both liked, Northern names for their firstborn, as twins ran in both the Stark and Lannister lines.

Rickon and Artos had been the names that they had picked, and, looking at her son’s little face, she couldn’t help but think that Artos suited him perfectly. Her little warrior wolf. Her lion cub.

“I love you, Artos Stark.”

-

“Congratulations, Ned,” Jon Arryn said, clapping the boy he thought of as a son on the back as Ned stared in awe at the letter, “Artos, after the warrior wolf if I am correct; a name to live up to.”

Ned nodded, smiling at the description of their son; the perfect mix between himself and Cersei. He may not love Cersei yet, but he certainly cared for her, and it could become more, and his son he loved already. He couldn’t help but be glad that this was the God’s plan for him, he could not imagine a life in which he did not marry Cersei, that he did not have little Artos, of whom he hadn’t even met yet but he still brought joy to Ned in his darkest times.

He had also received word from Benjen, who assured him that all was well in Winterfell, and that the stores for winter were growing.

He couldn’t help but worry, however, that he would never make it out of the war. Never save his sister; never have the chance to fall in love with his wife; never have the chance to hold his son; never have the chance to see Winterfell again.

Jon Arryn noticed how Ned’s face fell, and placed a comforting hand upon his shoulder, not needing to speak a word as Ned gripped onto his foster father’s hand. They would survive this; him, Jon, Robert. They had to.

And they would be rebuild a new Westeros; a better, fairer one.

“Come, Ned,” Jon Arryn prompted softly, “it is time for Robert’s feast, you know how he is if we’re late.”

Ned closed his eyes for several seconds, willing himself to put the letter away, before heading outside towards the loud music and yelling soldiers.

-

Ned watched, unable to move, as Crown Prince Rhaegar’s body was spat upon by uncultured rebel soldiers, jeered at, before he was thrown into the river. Soldiers all around were scrambling to pick up the rubies that, upon impact from the river (though already loose thanks to Robert’s blow with his war hammer) had all popped out. They jumped in the river, leant over, and fell in.

If he could find his voice, then Ned might have chided them. But, in his mind, all that he could think of was Rhaegar’s final word: “Lyanna.”

He had said the word with such love, such desperation that Ned had been thrown; unable to react as Robert laughed in joy, and as Jon Arryn lay the crown that Rhaegar had been wearing upon his head. It might not have been the King’s crown, but it was a crown none the less. And a symbol of his victory.

Ned could remember what the singers had sung: that Prince Rhaegar had loved his Lady Lyanna. He had chosen not to believe them, but now he was faced with the obvious truth. 

He had loved her.

Though he couldn’t help but feel angry at the Prince’s lack of honour, no doubt upsetting his wife and abandoning his children, he also couldn’t help the overwhelming sorrow that came over him. What if Lyanna had loved him to? Had he just assisted in the murder of his sister’s one love?

He closed his eyes, shaking the thoughts from his head. He couldn’t think about this, not now. Robert was injured by Rhaegar’s skilled hand, and he was soon ordered – upon the news that Lord Tywin was heading to King’s Landing, whom, despite being kin to Ned, had refused to declare for a side claiming his past friendship with the King allowed him to choose neither his good-son or his friend (a load of shit, Ned had thought) – to head to King’s Landing and get there first.

Mounting himself upon his stallion, Ned took one more glance back at Prince Rhaegar, the man was strong, but graceful, tall and slender with high cheekbones, a cutting jaw line and clear, pale skin. His silver-gold hair hung just below shoulder height, spread out in the water, and, though his eyes were closed, Ned could imagine the indigo eyes staring back at him as Ned muttered, “I’m so sorry, Lya.”

-

The eleven month old Artos had been securely within her arms as Cersei received the news. Lord Ronnel Arryn had informed her that Princess Elia, Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon were dead, killed by Lannister forces in the Sack of King’s Landing.

The information supplied made Cersei feel sick to the stomach, thinking of how she would have felt to see Artos killed in front of her. She had gripped him tighter to her then, and delivered a soft kiss to his dark brown curls.

The little boy had grown into her eyes, and now, as he felt his mother’s tender touch, emerald eyes moved up to meet the same eyes. His face grew longer still, and his nose and eye shape only made him resembled Ned more and more, especially with his dark brown hair. However, the curls in his dark brown hair, his cheekbones, his smile, creamy skin and face shape were all Cersei.

He also told her of Ned’s outburst, of how Jaime had been dismissed from the King’s Guard, and the letter that had been delivered from her husband but moments later informed her of how he was going to get Lyanna.

With a thankful nod, she dismissed Lord Ronnel and summoned the woman who was meant to be her son’s wet nurse to her. Cersei, after much debate with herself, had decided to feet her son from her own breast; but had kept the wet nurse regardless to help her settle into motherhood and in case she needed to go away.

Aemma Crakehall was a charming young woman, with yellow hair and bright blue eyes, her skin was a shining golden and her smile an easy one. She had become the closest to what Cersei could regard as a friend in these past few months.

Once, Cersei had asked Aemma about the child that she had had before she was looking after Artos, and what had happened. She had known that it was an insensitive questions, but the curiosity had simply been too much.

Aemma told her nothing but that the child had been a boy, and, eventually, that House Crakehall were pretending that the boy was her thought infertile brother – Ser Tybolt Crakehall, whom had wed Lady Sarra Serrett four years previously – so that Crakehall may not be shamed.

Cersei’s heart went out to the girl who had become her companion as she thought of such things.

“Yes, My Lady?” Aemma inquired as she appeared, seeing the frantic look upon Cersei’s face.

“I am leaving the Vale to go to my husband,” Cersei informed Aemma Crakehall, reluctantly placing Artos securely within her close friends arms.

“Are you sure that is wise?” was the questioning of the blonde haired woman, who regarded Cersei with slight worry, “the war may be won but the loyalists are still out for rebel blood.”

Cersei knew the two years her senior woman’s words to be true, but she wanted to go to him. She longed to see him again, and so Aemma’s words would not deter her. Instead, Cersei only asked, “will you look after my son, Aemma?”

“Until my last breath,” Aemma vowed, shifting her grip upon the young boy to make him more comfortable, affectionately attempting to flatten his wild brown curls.

“Then it is time that I left.”

One last time, Cersei lent down, repressing tears, and kissed her little boy’s head before moving to change from her dress into breaches and an undershirt and jerkin. 

Soon enough, she packed a bag of supplies before sneaking down the passage ways that she had tracked in her months of free time during her pregnancy to avoid the Lords of the Vale, for they would surely stop her.

Soon enough, she was in the stables, her pure black mare was awaiting her, with sapphire like eyes the horse had earnt the name ‘Jewel’.

Intially, it panicked slightly, seeing Cersei’s change in outfit and not recognising her straight away. Swiftly, the beautiful blonde – whom had tucked all of her hair into a black hat, calmed the horse, before saddling it up as she had observed the stable boys do and placing herself on top of it.

She knew that not only had he started off before her, but he was closer to Dorne – which had where he had wrote he was heading to, though nothing else but that in fear of somebody else finding out – and yet she was determined that she would catch up to him by the time he got to Nightsong, to which she had no doubt that he would pass as the main way into the southernmost region of Westeros.


	3. the She-Wolf's Pup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cersei Lannister rides south; two Targaryens are born; and Ned and Cersei are dismissed from Court after the arrival of Lord Stannis Baratheon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time is currently going quite quickly (this chapter covers more than six months) as I'm trying to include all the important parts, but also I wanted to finish the just after Robert's Rebellion time slot so I can do the big time jump next chapter.
> 
> I don't edit my chapters before I put them up, as I try to get them all to you as quick as I can, so if anybody is intrested in being my Beta then that would be absolutely brilliant!
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)

Chapter 3: the She-Wolf’s Pup

In war, Ned Stark had learnt to expect the unexpected. A dagger hidden under clothes, a feign of the sword before a stab in the opposite direction; but he hadn’t expected to, after telling the men to be on guard after seeing an armed rider coming towards them, see said rider take off their hat and for curly blonde hair to flow down their back.

Easily and swiftly, he recognised his wife and urged his men to stand down, watching as she bound towards him.

“Cersei what are you,” he began, his tone filled with surprise and worry, it wasn’t safe for her here; loyalists still thirsted for rebel blood, even if they had won.

His throat tightened at the means of how King’s Landing had been won. With the bloodshed of children and mothers.

“I had to see you,” Cersei informed him, clearly having been bracing herself for annoyance, “I knew that you would most likely pass through Nightsong but I clearly didn’t get there in time. I asked around and was pointed in the direction of Kingsgrave by one of the tavern women.”

Ned sighed, turning to Ethan Glover with an accusatory glare, whom looked meek; Ned knew that he had clearly told the woman that he had bedded at the inn where they were heading.

“You should turn back,” Ned attempted to persuade, hiding his joy at seeing her under fear of what may happen, but when he was met by her glower he knew what the answer would be. Lyanna had been similar, once her mind was set she would not be deterred. Why is it that his life had been filled with stubborn women? His mother had been fierce, the grandaughter of the Flint clan leader; his sister had been filled with wolf blood; and his wife too seemed to be a force of nature.

“If we get into a battle,” Ned slowly gave in, his gaze stony for on this part, it was non-negotiable, “you will stay at a distance and be hidden. We are heading back to the Red Mountains, there had been sightings of Rhaegar leaving there, from the direction of the Tower of Joy.”

Cersei nodded in agreement. A few of Ned’s men protested to having a woman with them, but they were soon silenced by their liege Lord who refused to hear it, knowing Cersei would not listen.

She rode aside him. He was upset with her, she knew, from his silence, so she decided to break the ice, “Artos is prospering,” this caught Ned’s attention immediately, “he has your hair, nose, long face, eye shape and jaw; but my eyes, cheekbones and face shape. His dark brown hair is curly and you can almost never get it to settle,” Cersei informed him with a chuckle, ignoring the lump that was building in her throat thinking of her young son, “and he is growing so fast.”

Cersei marvelled at the soft, genuine smile that grew upon his face, one that she had only seen once before and she dedicated the look to memory.

Ned had once told her that he had never thought himself as handsome as his older brother, Brandon, but Cersei couldn’t help but think him more handsome than the arrogant Brandon Stark with such a smile upon his face.

“I look forward to seeing him,” Ned informed her, and, in a moment of vulnerability, added, “he has been my light through the dark times of this war. Him and you.”

Cersei could not describe the warm feeling that filled her at his words, that was before Ser Mark Ryswell came galloping back towards them, whom had been sent out to search for the tower, a look of urgency upon his face.

“I have found the tower, it is guarded by Ser Oswell Whent, Ser Arthur Dayne and Lord Commander Gerold Hightower,” his voice increased with fear as he stated each name, “I daresay that we barely stand a chance, Lord Stark.”

Ned gritted his teeth, “well, we have to, for Lyanna.”

“For Lyanna,” many of the men responded, and Ned turned to Cersei, whose eyes communicated her fear for him. Knowing that she worried for him warmed him.

“No matter what happens, you are to stay hidden,” Ned told her, silencing any protest, “if we all die there, then you will head home. Artos needs you. The North needs you. Then tell Benjen what has transpired, he will then come for Lyanna.”

Cersei closed her eyes with a sigh, knowing there would be no talking Ned out of it or talking him into letting her fight. And truthfully, she hadn’t fought in years since Tywin had discovered that it was her, not Jaime, whom had been attending the sword fighting lessons so she would not even be that much of an asset.

She promised herself that when she had daughters, she would allow them to choose. If they wanted to be perfect ladies, then they could; if they wanted to learn to fight, then they could. Even if she had to defy Ned to allow them to do so. 

“Okay,” she gave in, her voice soft but chin still held high. Ned gave her a small smile and kissed her. It was not long, it was not enough, but it was a sign of affection none the less.

She went as far as to the top of the hill before the one that held the Tower of Joy upon it, to where she could still see the events that would unfold but far enough to make a swift escape.

She watched as Ned and his men rode up the hill, and resisted the urge to close her eyes as the battle commenced in front of her.

She saw as Ethan Glover and Ser Mark Rhyswell fell to Ser Oswell Whent, and as Ser Oswell Whent fell to Lord Willam Dustin. 

As Lord Willam Dustin battled valiantly and fell to Lord Commander Gerold Hightower; and as the Lord Commander fell to the combined strength of Ned and Theo Wull.

Ser Arthur Dayne, the famed Sword of the Morning, killed Theo Wull and Martyn Cassel.

Cersei had almost ran forth when she saw Ned fighting a losing battle against him, before Howland Reed delivered the deadly blow that struck the youngest son of House Dayne to the ground.

Both men’s heads snapped around, as if they had heard something, before they went running towards the tower. Deciding that the threat had gone, she mounted Jewel and galloped over to the tower. As she got closer, she began to hear screams. A woman’s screams. Lyanna’s screams she supposed.

Swiftly, she demounted Jewel, running towards the tower and further and further up the stairs until she was faced with the scene of Lyanna Stark in childbirth, Ned gripping tightly onto her hand and Howland watching with tears falling down his cheeks.

Not moments after she had arrived, the wail of a child met the air, and Cersei knew. That babe was to be the child of her childhood infatuation: this was Rhaegar Targaryen’s son.

“Promise me, Ned,” she heard the wildly beautiful brunette request, her voice breaking in her desperation, “you have to protect him. His name is Aegon Targaryen, Rhaegar annulled his marriage to Princess Elia and we wed. I know I was selfish Ned, I loved him and it’s all my fault. I’ll never forgive myself. I loved him, and I love him still.”

Cersei was speechless. Angry on behalf of Elia – despite never having liked the said woman – that her husband would cast her aside so easily, but then Cersei had been at Harrenhal. She had seen the way that the Crown Prince looked at the Stark girl; he would have done anything for her, and she for him.

“Promise me, Ned,” Lyanna begged, gazing at her son in her arms. In her eyes, the eldest child of Tywin Lannister could see the same love that Cersei felt for Artos in her eyes.

“I promise you, Lya.”

Cersei surged forward when she saw the breath leave the woman’s body, her arms slacking to the point that the babe began to slip from them; only to be scooped up by his Aunt just in time.

As if the child knew that it had just lost it’s mother, it’s wails filled the room, and Cersei awkwardly rocked the child. Looking down at the babe, she saw that it was all Stark, thankfully. While Artos was a mix between Cersei and Ned; this child was Lyanna’s image.

However, when the babe opened it’s eyes, Cersei was startled to see that they were almost black, but under the light of the Dornish sun they shone indigo. They were Rhaegar’s eyes, just darker.

Idly, Cersei wondered that if she had been Rhaegar’s Princess Consort as Tywin had wanted, then if he would have ever looked to the Stark girl, if Cersei and Rhaegar’s children would have had his eyes. 

Soon enough, she dismissed the thought. She couldn’t imagine her life without little Artos Stark.

Cersei looked to Ned, to see his eyes not leaving his sister’s eyes, but looking void. He looked as if he neither saw nor heard anything, prompting a fear in Cersei as she called out his name, only for him to be unresponsive.

Howland swiftly moved from where he was standing, guiding Ned out of the seat and down the tower, ordering for Lyanna and Arthur’s bodies to be put on the carriage. Looking to the dead bodies of the other Kingsguards, Cersei decided to use the bricks from the tower as memorials, asking for Howland’s help on such a matter.

Ned simply sat, gaze unmoving and Cersei couldn’t help the whole that grew in her stomach at her husband’s tortured expression.

She sighed, knowing well that when he came around it would be even worse. When he came around, he could break.

\--

They were on the way to Starfall, when Ned broke out of his trance, heading to deliver the sword of morning back to it’s rightful holders. They were alerted so by the sobs that worked their way from his throat, and Cersei was by his side in seconds, the child still in her arms.

Howland had offered to take him, but Cersei had kept holding him. She couldn’t help but feel protective of the babe whose mother had just died, like she had wished that there had been somebody to protect her when her own mother had died.

When Joanna Lannister had passed, Tywin and Jaime had been too lost in their grief to care to look after her, the servants had come to resent her grief stricken outbursts and Tyrion had been to blame. The little monster.

She still felt the hatred pool in her stomach at the memory of him.

“She’s dead,” Ned muttered, his voice shaky as he voiced the words, “she’s dead.”

“Yes,” Cersei agreed quietly, rocking the sleeping Prince Aegon the Younger as she gripped the reins of her horse, “she is.”

“I know that she was selfish, I know that she was a reason for this war,” Ned began, “but she is, was, my sister and it was my fault regardless. I never should have pressured her into marrying Robert; Brandon, father and I never should of assumed that she would go unwillingly. As if headstrong Lyanna would ever allow herself to be taken.” 

He let out a small, bitter chuckle at the end of his words as he stated it so, before his breath caught at seeing little Aegon in Cersei’s arms.

“I’m sorry, I know that you had once cared for the Crown Prince,” Ned apologised, only to have Cersei interrupt him before he could say anything further.

“I’m not sorry that I never married Rhaegar,” Cersei informed him, ignoring Ned’s surprised look, “because then I never would have married you, or had Artos.”

Ned only nodded, looking to the child with a sigh, “there’s only one way that I can think to protect him.”

Cersei nodded, she had already though of that and knew what he was going to say. At the beginning, she had spat at the idea of everybody thinking that her husband had dishonoured her but then her ambition had set in. Under her roof, she would raise the Heir to the Iron Throne, she could be the guardian of the future King of Westeros. If she played her cards right.

Cersei was a Lannister, and was proud to be a Lannister, there was no way that she would not try to play this to her advantage. And if Robert was a bad King, or didn’t have Heirs, then it would make it all too easily to strike.

And if he was a good King, then by all means she would plot to strike anyway.

It was a shame, however, that everybody would think that he would be her children’s half-brother, if not, she may have tried to wed her daughter to him. 

“I give you my blessing to claim him, if that is what you are after,” Cersei informed him, watching as Ned’s surprised face turned to hers, before his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

She smiled at how well he seemed to know her after only a few months, for his face clearly portrayed the factor that he knew she was plotting. And she could tell that he did not approve, but if it brought her onside, then she knew that he would not protest.

“He can’t be known as Aegon then,” Ned stated, looking at the boy with love for his sister’s son. He took a moment to think before he suggested, “Jon would do, I suppose, it’s short for Aegon with Gon, and is the name of a King of Winter as well as Jon Arryn.”

Cersei nodded in agreement, calling it a fine name; even if it did sting that the boy that the world would think would be her husband’s bastard would have the name of a King of Winter.

Soon enough, the grand castle of Starfall lay in front of them, Lord Aeres Dayne, Lady Ashara Dayne and young Lady Allyria Dayne awaiting them inside.

\--

Wylla Holt, a daughter from the minor Dornish House of Holt, was to be little Aegon Targaryen’s – or Jon Snow’s, as he was known as now – wetnurse. She was not as kind, caring or as friendly as Aemma Crakehall (Artos’ wet nurse), but for now, Cersei supposed that she would do.

As they arrived at King’s Landing, the gates were opened for them with ease after their identities had been verified. The war had only just ended, and it was a time for paranoia.

Being back in King’s Landing brought with it the sorrow that she had missed her beloved son’s first birthday, but knew that Aemma would make it a day that he would enjoy.

Sighing, and passing over Jon to Wylla (it would look far too strange, they had decided, for headstrong, willful Cersei Lannister to accept her husband’s bastard so easily therefore she would have to keep her distance) before they were allowed to leave to visit their chambers first to clean themselves.

She took a single look back at the three and a half month old boy – their treck from Dorne being a long one with a fortnight stay in Starfall and the long journey out of the mountains previous to that, as well as all the traffic caused by the amount of people heading towards King’s Landing to catch a glimpse of their new King – that she had come to love as a nephew, before heading to her own chambers.

Ned had the rooms beside her, while Jon would stay in the nursery to where Wylla had rooms beside there.

Dressing in a scarlet dress with lace sleeves, a moderately low neckline that puffed out at the bottom, supported by a crinoline with the emerald necklace Ned had gifted her upon her neck (there was no way that she could have left it behind) she made her way out of her chambers; thankful to see Ned already waiting outside.

“Shall we, My Lady?” He inquired, a small smile upon his lips as he took her in, something that greatly boosted her confidence and brought a small grin upon her own painted red lips.

“We shall.”

And so the duo headed to the throne room, a page announcing them to the King as: “Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North and the Lady Cersei Stark.”

Cersei walked in with her head held high and proud, looking to see the newly crowned King Robert Baratheon, first of his name, upon the Iron Throne – one that, one day, Cersei reminded herself, her nephew might sit upon if her plans go through – with his pretty wife, the new Queen Lysa, standing behind him.

Their new Queen’s sister also stood close to the throne, by the side of her own husband, the Lord Jon Arryn. Cersei recalled her father telling her that the Lady Catelyn Tully did all the jobs of Lady Tully after Minisa Tully died, just as Cersei had done so after Joanna Lannister’s death. No doubt, by the more calculating look upon Catelyn’s face compared to Lysa’s naïve one, that Catelyn was the more intelligent of the two.

Cersei and Ned both bowed to the King and Queen, before Robert soon prompted them to rise with a booming laugh. Unsurprisingly, his first topic of conversation was the babe: “so, Ned, I hear you’ve got yourself a bastard. Was your lioness wife not doing it for you?”

Cersei tried to bury the anger in her eyes at being talked of so degradingly, and she saw many shocked looks around the court; including the annoyance upon Lord Tywin Lannister and Lord Jon Arryn’s faces, the former about the jest at his daughter, and the latter at the King’s lack of conduct.

Ned didn’t answer. And when he didn’t, Robert simply continued, “what have you named the boy?”

“His name is Jon Snow,” Ned spoke, irritation for his long-time friend clear in his voice as he spoke.

Robert either didn’t sense the irritation or didn’t care for it as he just laughed, proclaiming it a strong Stark name, whilst Jon Arryn looked touched at the man naming his child, even a presumed bastard one, after him.

When Robert looked to Cersei, she found herself uncomfortable under his gaze, the way that it seemed to rest everywhere except for her eyes. She had seen that gaze before upon others; and she would be no man’s whore.

“You look beautiful, Lady Cersei,” Robert stated, eyes still upon her, “if you ever wish for any company…”

Cersei’s head snapped up in surprise at the blatant offering, and she supposed that Ned’s must have as well for Robert laughed once more; insisting it was just a jest. 

The clearly portrayed that he was not made for a throne. He could be acting up in his grief over the death of the Lady Lyanna – Princess Lyanna Targaryen, Cersei reminded herself – of which he had surely heard of by now, but either way it showed that Robert Baratheon was a fine warrior, there was no denying such factors, and yet just because one could swing a battle axe it didn’t make them skilled enough to be a King.

But Cersei thought that she could make Jon Snow skilled enough to be so, and Artos skilled enough to be Hand of the King.

While she was more than disgusted by Robert’s comments – especially as she knew that the same comments had once been directed at her mother by King Aerys Targaryen – she couldn’t help but know that they would work in her favour.

She watched as Jon Arryn moved forward, more than likely telling the King to stop and of how he was not using correct conduct. She saw annoyance on the King’s face, but he caved none the less.

“I welcome you to King’s Landing, Lord and Lady Stark.”

\--

Robert, it turned out, had wanted to keep Ned close to him in King’s Landing, for a further three and a half months their King had ignored Ned and Cersei’s want to go back to Winterfell and see their son. 

Cersei ended up taking daily strolls with the Tully sisters, neither of whom she was particularly fond of but as the consorts of Lord Paramounts, she pretended to like for the sake of alliances. 

Her favourite companion was the Lady Olenna Tyrell, a fierce, sarcastic, cunning woman of whom she couldn’t help but respect. The older woman was truly a woman to behold.

Today, however, she strolled with neither the dull, emotional Queen Lysa, nor the judgemental, pious Catelyn or Lady Olenna, for she and Ned were both summoned to the throne room with all the other nobles to witness Lord Stannis Baratheon’s arrival back in King’s Landing.

Soon enough, the tall, broad-shouldered, blue eyed Stannis Baratheon comes strolling in, two weeping women to one side, surrounded by soldiers. In the arms of one of them was a babe, younger than Jon, dressed in fine silk clothing.

Realisation came to Cersei swiftly.

Robert’s eyes flared up when he saw that Queen Rhaella was not with the other two girls, “where is the dragon bitch?” He inquired angrily, regarding his younger brother with narrowed eyes.

“She died, Your Grace,” Stannis informed him with a bow of his head, “in child birth.”

All eyes turned to the babe in the arms of the girl surrounded by soldiers as Stannis continued, “the Dowager Queen managed to name the child Daenerys before she passed; her son, Prince Viserys, got away on a boat with the Darry traitor.”

“You let the dragonspawn get away?” Robert demanded, standing from his seat and moving towards Stannis, whose eyes stayed fixed upon Robert.

“They got away before we arrived, Your Grace.”

“You did well brother,” Robert stated, but both Cersei and Ned saw that the anger remained in the new King’s eyes, “you are to be Lord of Dragonstone.”

Stannis’ eyes widened, “but Storm’s End-,”

“Will be given to Renly,” Robert informed him, interrupting with a glower at his brother. Stannis had no choice but to bow his head in defeat, yet Cersei still had the chance to see the resentment in his eyes. 

Perhaps she could make an ally out of the middle Baratheon brother.

Such a thought made a smirk appear upon her face, one that ended when she heard her husband speak up, “what will you do with the Princess, Robert?”

“She is nothing but dragonspawn,” Robert argued, blue eyes filled with hatred lying upon the child, “I will not have that monster roaming around these castle walls!”

All Ned could see was the bodies of Princess Rhaenys, Princess Elia and Prince Aegon lying upon the steps of the Iron Throne; he couldn’t believe

“Then send her North with me,” Ned suggested, determined eyes staring at Robert, “she is innocent of her families crimes.”

“How could you Ned,” Robert demanded, his voice filled with pain, “how could you want to raise that thing after all her family did to you. All her family did to your brother and your father and-and Lyanna.”

Ned’s eyes went to the floor, but he did not give up, “it is her family’s crimes, Robert, not her own. I will not hold an innocent child accountable for something that happened before she was even born.”

“Fine then,” Robert spat out, his glare now upon Ned. Ours is the Fury Cersei remembered from learning about the House Baratheon of Storm’s End, “you can take the girl, raise her and do with her what you will. She is never allowed to come to King’s Landing and if I so much as hear one whisper of ‘rebellion’ then she will be executed.”

Ned nodded, accepting the deal as it was given. Robert gestured for the woman to give the girl to Ned, to which she did so, whispering to him, “please, look after her,” to which he nodded in agreement.

The two girls were soon identified as Lady Alysanne Velaryon – whom had been the one holding Princess Daenerys, and had been a Lady-In-Waiting to Queen Rhaella – and young Lady Laena Penrose. 

Alysanne had been told she was being sent back to Driftmark, and Laena was being sent back to Parchments.

“And, Ned,” Robert added, looking at his friend in slight betrayal, “you may leave at the month’s end.”

Ned bowed his head, an action of which Cersei mirrored whilst deciding she would need to call upon Aemma, as Wylla was heading back to Starfall at the end of the week due to Lord Aeres Dayne’s wife being with child, and Cersei could not look after two young babes on her own.

She would also have to write to Northern families, to get another temporary wet nurse for Artos in the meantime, for she was not willing to risk his health by bringing him into the overcrowded city.


	4. a Pack of Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we travel to early 298; a wolf desires a dragon; Oberyn Martell travels North with a proposition and Cersei plots behind Ned's back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Line from 21st June 284 (birth of Daenerys Targaryen):  
> (these will all be explained during the chapters so don’t freak out, I know it’s a lot :) )
> 
>  
> 
> 28th August 284 – birth of Robb Arryn, son of Catelyn and Jon  
> 3rd January 285 – marriage of Benjen Stark and Leyla Hightower  
> 26th February 285 – birth of Gendry Snow, son of Aemma Crakehall and Robert Baratheon   
> 15th April 285 – birth of Raya Stark, daughter of Cersei and Ned  
> 12th September 285 – birth of Sansa Arryn, daughter of Jon and Catelyn  
> 11th July 285 – marriage of Jaime Lannister and Ysilla Royce  
> 1st January 286 – birth of Beron Stark, son of Benjen and Leyla  
> 4th October 286 – birth of Myrcella Lannister, daughter of Jaime and Ysilla  
> 22nd January 287 – betrothal of Rosamund Lannister to Stannis Baratheon  
> 13th February 287 – birth of Arya and Lyonel Stark, twins of Cersei and Ned  
> 29th March 287 – birth of Ellard Stark, son of Benjen and Leyla  
> 4th March 288 – birth of Joanna Lannister, daughter of Jaime and Ysilla  
> 5th March 288 – death of Ysilla from child bed fever  
> 11th August 288 – birth of Aregelle Stark, daughter of Ned and Cersei  
> 289 – Greyjoy Rebellion  
> 6th May 290 – birth of Brandon Stark, son of Benjen and Leyla  
> 9th February 291 – birth of Rickon Stark, son of Ned and Cersei  
> 31st September 292 – marriage of Rosamund Lannister and Stannis Baratheon  
> 2nd December 292 – birth of Robert ‘Robin’ Baratheon, son of Lysa   
> 25th August 293 – birth of Shireen Baratheon, daughter of Stannis and Rosamund  
> 12th March 294 – birth of Minisa Baratheon, daughter of Lysa  
> 1st November 294 – birth of Leon Stark, son of Ned and Cersei

Chapter 4: a Pack of Wolves

 

January 298 AC

Cersei

Cersei clapped as she watched Arya knock the sword from her cousin’s, Ellard Stark’s (Benjen’s second son’s), hands. Her middle daughter was the most skilled at the sword and bow out of Raya, herself and Aregelle, all of which Cersei had insisted learn the basics of swordsmanship.

Ned had took some persuading, but after she voiced the opinion of their girls being able to defend themselves against rapists and what not, Ned had caved, and was now often seen cheering them on.

Raya Stark, their eldest daughter and secondborn, was skilled at both swordplay (though favoured the spear) and the womanly arts, with Cersei’s wilfulness but also was dutiful; in contrast, Arya was a catastrophe at womanly arts and favoured weaponry above any other, often sneaking out of her classes and persuading one of her brothers, or Aemma’s son Genry, to fight with her. Out of all their child, Cersei theorised that Arya had the most Wolf Blood. 

When Cersei had called Aemma to King’s Landing, the beautiful wet nurse had immediately caught the King’s eye, and had seemingly cave under it for by the time that they had reached Winterfell, Aemma knew that she was with child.

The boy chose to be apprenticed as a smith at Winterfell, while Cersei kept Aemma on to help organise the households, and also because she had grown close to the yellow haired woman from the Westerlands she had once home.

Cersei’s youngest daughter – Aregelle Stark – did not show the same natural skill as Arya had at her age, but was picking sword fighting up fast, a dedicated learner, though definitely seemed to prefer embroidery, dancing and playing the harp. Young Aregelle, however, was perhaps the most skilled at horse riding, and as honourable and honest as her father.

Artos, true to his namesake, was extremely skilled at swordsmanship and had inherited the wit and beauty of his mother, though the honour of his father. If Cersei was to be honest to herself, Artos and Aregelle had always been her favourite children; whereas she sensed that Ned favoured Lyonel and Arya.

Artos’ dark brown hair and green eyes were also shared with his younger brother, Rickon, Cersei’s third son; meanwhile Arya and Raya had their father’s dark hair and grey eyes; Aregelle and Lyonel had Cersei’s golden hair and Ned’s grey eyes; and little Leon had both Cersei’s golden hair and green eyes.

Lyonel, her second born son and the twin brother of Arya, was perhaps the most intelligent and cunning of her four sons but had Ned’s calming presence, a dangerous combination, Cersei had often thought, lulling people into a false sense of security.

Thirdly was Rickon, a boy with her stubborn nature and strong will, who loved to hear stories of Knights and to watch his older brothers (including Jon), Raya, Arya, Gendry and Daenerys practicing with weaponry. He was deemed too young to fight with them, but was taught swordsmanship with a blunt wooden sword; and while he was not as skilled as Artos or Arya, he was still more efficient than most boys his age.

Little Leon was the youngest, and the boy was Cersei’s mirror image, with Cersei’s charisma and Ned’s smile. At four years of age, he had not yet begun to learn swordplay.

She and Ned had decided that seven children was more than enough, so Cersei had begun to take moon tea, but their passion for one another did not cease.

Cersei opened a lazy eye that morning to see Ned entering their bed chamber in his robe, a letter in hand and a troubled look upon his face, crawling back beside her and handing her the letter to read for herself. Cersei’s bright green eyes scanned it, before looking up to Ned with a calculating expression upon her face, “it seems that Oberyn Martell and his Sand Snakes will be paying us a visit.”

“Why, though?” Ned inquired of Cersei frustratingly, grey eyes narrowed in suspicion, “the man hadn’t left Dorne since Princess Elia died, and now he is coming with his paramour and his eight daughters.”

“Prince Oberyn is as unpredictable as the sea, husband mine,” Cersei answered, delivering a swift kiss to his lips and offering him a small smile, “we best get the castle ready for visitors, and get another Master of Arms, I hear his girls are fighters; perhaps they can teach Raya, Arya and Aregelle some tricks.”

“Mama,” they heard, along with the scolding of Aemma as little Leon ran into their room, golden hair messed up and green eyes wide, excitedly squealing out, “papa.”

“And so the peace is gone,” Ned stated, but the smile upon his face clearly told her that he wouldn’t have it any other way. Soon enough, Leon (4), Rickon (6), Aregelle (9), Arya (11) and Lyonel (11) had all come into their room, Arya telling a detailed story of how she had beat Lyonel in three sword fights the previous day (to which the said boy had protested, proclaiming she cheated), and had beat Raya twice but was bested by Artos and as Aregelle showed them the embrioded red direwolf that she had made.

Watching them all with a smile upon her face, Cersei couldn’t help but think that this is the calm before the storm.

But when the storm came, she was determined that herself and her family would still be standing.

\-----

Artos

“Are you afraid, Warrior Wolf?” Daenerys inquired with a smirk as she picked up a sword, her silver-gold hair blowing in the wind, amethyst eyes wide and sparking with challenge.

“The wolf does not bow to the dragon,” Artos informed her, trying not to notice how beautiful she looked with the sunlight shining upon her.

“Everybody bows to the dragon,” Daenerys informed him with a giggle, twirling her sword before looking up at him through her lashes, “if I recall correctly, your ancestor – King Torrhen Stark – bent the knee to my ancestor: King Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters.”

He rolled his eyes at her words, but picked up the sword as she had been trying to egg him into doing, they circled one another, and, just before she struck, Daenerys commanded, “don’t go easy on me.”

And then they fought.

Sword clashed against sword. He thrust his sword towards her, but she merely span out the way, she made a slice towards his chest, but he easily blocked it and tried to hit the sword out of her hands; but her grip remained firm.

Daenerys, while perhaps not as good as himself and Arya, was still gifted at the sword. Most of the Stark children and their wards were. She often bested their father’s ward, Theon Greyjoy, much to the boy’s chargin and Raya, and often drew with Artos’ half-brother: Jon. 

Artos supposed that one of the main reasons why she never won against him, was because he knew all of her moves. He knew how her stance shifted when she was about to feign a movement, how her left thrust was weaker than her right and how she often left her midsection unguarded for she took a more offensive approach rather than defensive. 

He had often watched as she fought with Jon or Theon or Raya or Arya, and when she noticed him, he couldn’t help but blush. It felt like something was stirring in his chest when he was around her; like something was fluttering.

He had told his mother so in confidence, and she had smirked and labelled it as butterflies. However, she had also told him not to tell his father of such feelings. While Ned Stark treated Princess Daenerys Targaryen like she was a part of the family, if he knew that Artos was beginning to harbour feelings for her then he would likely foster her elsewhere.

King Robert, despite their arguments, was still a dear friend to Ned; and he would not betray him.

Artos knew, however, that he did not have any such feelings for any other but Daenerys. He could remember when Lord Manderly had brought his granddaughters to Winterfell in hope of one of them wedding either Artos or Lyonel. Only, Lyonel had been far more interested in reading all about the Westerlands (where their mother grew up) than either of the girls, and all Artos had thought of was Daenerys, and the way her eyes ignited like a purple fire whenever she saw him and Wynafryd together.

Soon enough, Artos was able to hit the blade from Daenerys’ hands, and it skidded across the grounds. Daenerys pouted at her defeat for but a moment, before she smiled at him, and he found himself standing ever so close, so close that if he was to duck down just a little, he could surely place a kiss upon her plump lips. Her lips. His eyes were drawn to them like magnets.

He saw her eyes flicker down to his own as well, and he felt flames stirring within him. If he reached out, he could grab her waist, pull her towards him..

“Artos! Artos!” Came the shouting of his youngest cousin – Brandon – as he came running from the right direction. Artos sighed, pulling himself away from Daenerys at the same time that she jolted away. He had to remember his mother’s words. Remember that his father wouldn’t approve.

“What is it, Bran?” Artos inquired, smiling at the boy with his mother’s silver hair and her blue eyes. 

“I can see the flag of Sunspear! The Martell party are coming!” Bran stated excitedly, “remember how Aunt Cersei told us they were heading North. The Prince Oberyn, Lady Ellaria and his daughters! They say Oberyn is a brilliant Knight, do you reckon you’ll fight him, Artos?”

Artos could barely keep up with the words Bran was saying at the pace in which he was talking, but grinned when Daenerys let out a melodic laugh, “I’m sure that your cousin will fight Prince Oberyn, it might lead to the deflation of ego that dear Artos needs.”

He turned to her, a smirk playing on his lips as he informed her, “I do not have a large ego.”

“Sure,” she said, unconvinced with a grin.

Bran mimicked puking at the two, before running off in a different direction, most likely to tell his older brothers: Beron and Ellard, or to tell Artos’ brothers: Lyonel, Rickon and Leon. He doubted very much that Bran would tell Arya after she bested him at archery for the a hundredth time yesterday, at that very thought – and that of his little sister’s ferociousness – he chuckled.

“Shall we go and greet the Prince and his party, My Princess?” Artos inquired, giving a mock bow to Daenerys to which she laughed at, offering her hand to him and saying:

“We shall.”

\----

Ned

Ned Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, didn’t quite know how they’d managed to do it, but they had. All of the wild children of Winterfell, his own: Artos, Raya, Arya, Lyonel, Aregelle, Rickon and Leon along with his nephew, Jon, and wards Daenerys and Theon as well as Benjen’s children: Beron, Ellard and Bran were all lined up waiting for the Prince to arrive.

Arya and Bran were both waiting excitedly, as, although they didn’t always get along, fighting like true cousins, they both enjoyed stories of Knights. Rickon was also most excited to see them, and the others very curious.

“I heard that Ellaria Sand worships the Lynese Love Goddess,” he heard his sister-in-law, the silver-haired, blue-eyed, fair-faced Lady Leyla Stark, formerly Hightower, whisper to his wife.

“She is also the beloved natural born daughter of the powerful House of Hellhot,” Cersei stated, looking ahead, “so I wouldn’t mention that to her face.”

Leyla nodded, brushing a hand over Bran’s hair – who stood beside her, then Ellard and then Beron – and ruffling it slightly, smiling at his protests as the Martell royals almost were in front of them.

Soon enough, Prince Oberyn Martell was dismounting his horse, a large, charming smile upon his lips. He greeted Ned first, before kissing Cersei’s hand, informing his wife that she had ‘only become more beautiful since childhood’, reminding him that, once, his wife was to have married the Prince, before he moved onto the children.

Ned saw his eyes land upon Jon, and he felt himself stiffen. By the look in Oberyn’s eyes, he could have sworn the man knew, but soon his eyes continued on. 

His daughters and his paramour got off of the horses behind him, even the youngest who was a mere five years of age (albeit her horse was a pony).

The eldest, Obara, was twenty and six, a woman well grown but looked more like a man. She never married, Ned knew, and was a fierce warrior with rat-brown hair and close-set eyes; next was Nymeria, a woman of twenty and three who was more beautiful than her elder sister but, rumour has it, no less deadly; thirdly was Tyene, at twenty years of age, she was as beautiful as Nymeria, however she had silver-gold hair that mirrored Daenerys so much that she could be a Targaryen herself, however her eyes were a sapphire blue rather than amethyst; Oberyn’s fourth daughter, a girl of ten and seven whose mother was a renowned sailor.

The youngest four, Ellaria’s children, ranged from the ages of three and ten to five, all having the looks of the salty Dornishmen.

“We welcome you to Winterfell, Prince Oberyn, Lady Elia and your lovely daughters,” Ned stated, bowing his head to the Prince who smiled at him.

“Come, Lord Stark,” Oberyn prompted, “your wife as well, let us head to the crypts, we have much to talk about.”

Though confused by the man’s request to go to the crypts, he nodded to the Prince, telling his children, his nephews and his wards to show the Prince’s daughters around, knowing that Lady Leyla and Bejen would accompany Ellaria Sand.

\----

Cersei

The three adults continued walking to the crypts in silence, neither Ned nor Cersei speaking a word, awaiting for the Prince to begin.

Finally, he stopped in front of the only statue of a woman within the crypts; in front of the statue of the Lady Lyanna Stark. Cersei would not call his gaze upon the woman as a kind one, or even one of liking, but it was not one of hatred either.

“In Dorne, it is far more common for Lords and Princes to have bastard children,” Oberyn informed them, and Cersei saw Ned tense with the conformation that Oberyn knew the secret that they both knew, “Elia could have come to accept the She-Wolf, she had not loved Rhaegar after all, had Rhaegar not annulled their marriage and wed her.”

Cersei dared not breath a word, hearing the anger in the Prince’s voice, “Elia never expected that noble Prince Rhaegar would set aside their children for another. Set aside beautiful little Princess Rhaenys and lovely Prince Aegon, the elder I suppose we should call him as his younger half-brother was named the same name.”

The Prince let out a long sigh, his eyes turning from Lyanna’s statue and the winter roses that Ned had left just the previous day at her feet, “I may not like your sister, and I never will, but the son is not to blame for the actions of his parents. And that boy is the rightful Heir to the Iron Throne.”

“One that he will not be claiming,” Ned adamantly informed the Prince, “I would not do that to Robert.”

Oberyn’s eyes flared up in anger at the name of the man who had condoned the death of his sister, and of his niece and nephew, but he clearly bit his tounge and continued reasonably, “but would you rise against his son? You must have heard how much of a monster the boy is, and that the boy is rumoured to not even be Robert’s son; many suspect the sickly child is truly fathered by Little Finger.”

Ned had heard the rumours indeed. But rumours were, in the end, rumours. 

Ned closed his eyes, and let out an annoyed sigh, “I am sorry, my Prince, but I cannot hear anymore of this treason. I will see you at the feast,” and with such words, Ned left the crypts. But Cersei did not.

“What are you proposing, Your Highness?” Cersei questioned once her husband was out of ear shot, regarding her childhood friend.

He smirked at her, “ever scheming, dear Cersei. And just Oberyn will do.”

“Well, Oberyn,” Cersei stated, “I ask again, what are you proposing?”

“My daughter, Tyene,” Oberyn informed her, eyes roaming the crypt, “as I’m sure you have seen, resembles a Targaryen,” Cersei nodded, the girl’s silver-gold hair and pale skin made it undeniable, “that is because she is from their line. My third daughter is the only grandchild of Maelys I Blackfyre. Her mother was Viserra Blackfyre, who disguised herself as a Septa and only told me of her identity after Tyene had been born. She is the Blackfyre Heir; her mother gave her the ancestral sword before she died.”

Cersei could not hide her surprise, to which Oberyn grinned at, “so what I propose, sweet Cersei, is a marriage between Jon Snow – or Prince Aegon Targaryen, the rightful King Aegon VI – and my daughter, Tyene. Bastard or not, my daughter is still a dragon and the Blackfyre supporters will follow her.”

With Targaryen loyalists, summoned by both Jon and Daenerys, the Blackfyre supporters, the Martell supporters and the North, they were surely heading in the right direction. And if Cersei was to get the loyalty of even more houses… Well, surely they could win.

Her family could reign. After all, there was no way that she would not orchestrate the marriage between Jon’s son and Artos’ daughter or something of the sought, she was determined that her own lineage would end up upon the throne.

“I will convince my husband, Prince Oberyn,” Cersei informed him with a grin, plots and schemes filling her mind, “in the meantime, I would like Jon and Tyene to get to know one another. He is a gentle, kind, thoughtful boy who I care for as I care for my own children; he deserves to at least have a wife he’s friends with, one he could grow to love.

“I too want happiness for Tyene,” Oberyn said, already planning upon suggesting a sword fight between Tyene and Jon, “we would also be stronger if the Targaryen girl was firmly tied into our alliance, perhaps with a marriage.”

Cersei smirked, “that I can do. Artos already cares for her, and she for him. It would not be hard to give him the final push towards her.”

In that moment; everything seemed to fall into place.

Only hundreds of leagues away, Maggy the Frog awoke with a start, breathing heavily. In her dreams, she saw a silver haired boy falling; she saw a Targaryen girl, flames all around her; she saw the death of hundreds of thousands of soldiers, some with burns scorching them, some slain with swords.

And she saw marching beyond the wall. 

“Winter is coming," she gasped out; before all she saw was darkness.


	5. a Lonely Dragon; a Jealous Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jon and Tyene meet; Daenerys finds herself jealous of Sarella, and Artos of Lyonel and Cersei's plots come to fruition.

Chapter 5: a Lonely Dragon; a Jealous Dragon

Jon

Jon Snow reluctantly look the sword from their Master at Arms, eyeing Tyene Sand doubtfully. The silver-gold haired, blue-eyed girl gave off an air of otherworldly innocents, assisted by her white attire, and her hands were soft; she didn’t look like a fighter, even if her sisters and herself proclaimed her to be. And he didn’t want to hurt her.

“Are you ready, Snow?” She challenged, a smile upon her face. Even her voice was gentle and light, this girl was clearly no warrior.

Knowing that she would not back out of the fight (he had offered that earlier, and she had laughed at him and called him afraid; which he was determined to show that he was not) he simply nodded. And soon it was called for it to start.

She didn’t move, so he decided to go on the offense, jabbing his sword towards her. Before he could so much as move, his sword was out of his hands and had skidded to Artos’ feet, who sniggered at him, and to where Prince Oberyn watched with a smirk, “never underestimate your enemy, Jon Snow.”

Cheeks red from the embarrassment of being bested so easily, he went to grab his sword and they began a best of five, that turned to a best of seven and then to eleven.

In the end, Tyene won seven to four; but she had been surprised by his skill none the less, and had given him pointers. He convinced her to have another round; and so she did. Jon fought with everything within him, determined to impress Lady Tyene and the Prince Oberyn.

To his joy, he won the second round three to two, and she had smiled at him, stating, “you learn fast, Jon Snow.”

“Again?” He inquired, breathing heavy but grinning with the euphoria of having won against a woman so unexpectedly brilliant, albeit narrowly.

She laughed at him, but confirmed none the less, “again.” 

Soon enough, their swords met mid air, the usually sombre faced boy’s face in a bright grin as he laughed freely, fighting with Tyene feeling like a type of dance; reading each other’s expressions and determining their next moves.

\----  
Daenerys

Daenerys had spent the majority of her morning training with the Lady Nymeria. The girl was better than her, but Jory Cassel had always told her that it was better to fight somebody better than you anyway; it gave you more to learn.

The girl was an excellent teacher as well, and took her to watch Jon and Tyene fight as well so she could point out what both Tyene and Jon were doing wrong, though the duo didn’t seem to care; both Tyene and Jon having a good time fighting one another.

Daenerys could also see Artos watching Jon fight, Lady Sarella not far from him, the two occasionally talking. She felt an emotion burning in her stomach, the same that she had felt when Lady Wynafryd was here, having taken a strong liking to Artos. 

Nymeria clearly saw her gaze and smirked, “he’s a very handsome lad, Sarella is doing well with that one.”

That only caused Daenerys’ scowl to increase, eyes narrowing at the couple; Nymeria clearly didn’t notice, as she carried on, “no doubt she’ll have him in bed by the end of the week.”

“No she won’t,” Daenerys argued, her frustration bringing tears to her eyes, causing her to storm off in embarrassment, not seeing Artos’ eyes trained upon her back in concern, nor Sarella and Nymeria’s exchanged smirks as their plan from their father worked.

Heading into the castle, she went to her room. Her room was the hottest in the castle. It had used to be Lady Cersei’s but the golden haired lioness had seen no reason to have a different room than her husband’s when she was there near every night anyway, so she gave it to Daenerys as the cold had never boded well with the young dragon.

Laena, her maid, quickly came over to her when she saw the tears pouring down her Ladies, face, inquiring of her what was wrong, “he doesn’t care for me!” Daenerys snapped at her angrily, but soon apologised for the way she had spoken to her.

It was Artos she was upset with, it was no way fair for her to talk to Laena like that; it was just that she was so angry, it was as if fire was filling her veins instead of blood.

“It’s alright, sweet child,” Laena cooed, holding Daenerys close to her.

It was in that moment that a thought struck Daenerys, “where is the dress that Lady Cersei brought for me yesterday, Laena?”

Laena moved to the wardrobe, opening it up to reveal the low-cut, skin-tight red and black dress taking it out of the wardrobe and laying it upon the bed, “here, my lady.”

“Good,” Daenerys stated, a smile forming upon her face.

\----  
Cersei

Lady Cersei Stark, Lady of Winterfell and Wardeness of the North, hid her smirk in her wine goblet as the Princess Daenerys entered the room. The girl was in the dress that she had brought for her, a slit through front of the dress that travelled all the way down to her black belt, exposing the girl’s cleavage of her flowered body, the dress hugging tight to display a small waist and still growing, but reasonably developed, hips.

She couldn’t help but chuckle, covered up with a cough, however, as the goblet tumbled out of her eldest son’s hands and he gawked at Daenerys as if she were some kind of foreign rainbow fish.

And as his eyes narrowed when the Princess completely blanked him, heading straight towards Lyonel, who blushed and looked to the ground, asking him for a dance.

The girl was doing even better than Cersei had imagined, but then, she did learn from the best she supposed.

Arya, however, looked at her mother in confusion, inquiring, “how did Daenerys rip her dress?”

This time, Cersei did not attempt to cover up her laugh, laughing freely, “she didn’t, sweetling, it is simply a style of dress,” then she leant closer to the younger girl, “she is trying to make your brother jealous, and I think it is working.”

Cersei watched as young Arya, Ned’s image, shifted her eyes to where Artos stood in a puddle of wine from when he had dropped his goblet, fists clenched and eyes narrowed.

Arya giggled, informing her, “he looks silly.”

“Yes,” Cersei agreed, thankful that Ned had been distracted by Oberyn at the time, or else he surely would have intervened in the name of Robert, “he does a bit.”

Cersei then looked over to where Gendry Snow stood awkwardly, Sarella Sand looking at him as if he were a luscious piece of meat, “perhaps you should go and save Gendry, before the snakes gobble him up.”

Arya pulled a face, “I don’t like to dance. And Gendry’s an idiot.”

Cersei sighed at her middle daughter, her gaze moving back to where Artos stood, and she grinned when he walked purposely towards Daenerys and intercepted from his brother’s dance, seemingly asking Lyonel to leave. Her second son reluctantly left, causing Cersei to smile.

Her smile diminished, however, when she had remembered Ned’s decision to have him fostered elsewhere. Cersei had picked Highgarden for him, and Ned had agreed. Cersei had picked it for she knew that they had been Targaryen loyalists, and as she thought that Lyonel could learn much from Lady Olenna; whereas Ned agreed in hope that Lyonel’s friendship with the Tyrells might result in more trade of grain to the North for their winter stores.

Even if she had picked the place, it didn’t make the pain of the idea of it dimish at all, especially when Ned was considering having Raya or Rickon fostered in the Vale

\----  
Artos

A feeling, almost like anger, consumed him when he had seen Daenerys ask Lyonel for a dance. She looked beautiful, she always looked beautiful, but even more so tonight. She was like a temptress, and he wanted her. Oh how he wanted her.

He thought of how Theon Greyjoy would tease him for such thoughts, and certain… reactions, and blushed. He had barely noticed as his goblet smashed to the ground, or as his hands clenched into tight fists, all he knew is that he should be the one dancing with Daenerys; and so he felt himself storming over.

“Brother,” Artos stated, eyes never looked to Lyonel, remaining only on Daenerys as he tried to will his eyes not to look down, “leave us.”

He heard a huff from his blonde haired, grey eyed brother as he headed back to where he had been standing before, and took his place. Artos grabbed Daenerys’ hands and twirled her around, demanding, “why were you dancing with my brother?”

She smiled coyly at him as she took the lead in the dance, “I was under the influence that you were interested only in the Lady Sarella, so I though Lyonel might as well keep me company.”

He almost laughed at her tone, it was jealousy; the same feeling he now identified as filling him earlier, he leant in, towards her ear, and whispered to her, “I want you and only you.”

She manoeuvred her head, so their lips were mere inches apart and whispered to him: “prove it.”

“Marry me,” he said upon an impulse, but soon couldn’t think of a better idea. Damn his father and the King who he had never met; he cared for Daenerys, he liked her, hell, he might even love her. And he needed her, “marry me and I’ll love you until our last days. Marry me tonight.”

She searched his eyes, presumably for any sign of deceit before breathing out, “yes,” she grinned, “yes, when, where?”

“In the Godswood, I will bring Jon, Arya and Aregelle to be our witnesses, and I’ll find the cloak they used to cloak my mother; have you got any cloaks with a dragon on?”

Daenerys frowned in thought, “no, but I’m sure that Aregelle had embrioded one before; I can ask her to stitch it on a black cloak quickly.”

“Good,” Artos said, both wearing elated smiles, neither being able to wait for the night that was to come.

Nymeria Sand was close enough to have heard their conversation and smirked to herself, moving on to inform her father and the Lady Cersei.

Artos gladly danced with Daenerys for the rest of the night, up until Aregelle was to be put to bed. Daenerys offered to take her, but Artos knew that she would instead be taking her to her chambers to inform her of what was to happen that night and to request of her to stitch in the dragon.

Not long after, he left. Heading to his mother and father’s chambers in order to get there before them to get the cloak. To his surprise, the cloak was easy to find – too easy – Artos could easily guess then that his mother had known this was happening, helped in it even. But he didn’t care. Long before this night, he had loved Daenerys.

And tonight, he would marry her.

\----  
Jon

Jon Snow watched the Tyene Sand in awe. It surprised him, how swiftly and efficiently she could shift from able warrior woman to a woman of the court, the epitome of innocence and purity in her flowing white gown, and her silver-gold hair.

It was easy to get along with her, he found, for while he adored his brothers and sisters and cousins, none of them were bastards. None of them understood what it was like. Sure, in Dorne it was far more normal and accepted; but, even if their father rarely left Dorne, the eldest Sand Snakes did, and in other parts of Westeros, people were cruel to her.

He would like to think them as friends, as he would like to think of kind but flirty and forward Lady Sarella and good-humoured Lady Elia. Secretly, though, Jon thought Tyene the prettiest of them all.

“You look fetching, Jon,” Tyene commented when he did not begin to make conversation as they swirled across the dance floor.

His cheeks went red as he answered, “as do you, Tyene.”

She smiled at him, a smile that reminded him a bit of Daenerys’. As did her hair, and skin colour, and even her nose shape; finally, Jon decided to inquire, “I must ask, are you related to Daenerys? You look a lot like her.”

Jon, whom had always been observant, saw her expression stiffen, both giving him the urge to apologise and making him more curious, “my mother was a Septa,” she answered, as if she had been rehearsing the line many times, and as if it was not entirely true, “I got most of my looks from here, but I do not know much else about her.”

“What was her name?” Jon questioned, only Tyene didn’t reply. Sighing, he decided to confide in her, “I don’t know anything about my mother. Her name, what she looked like, where she was from, what she was.”

Tyene could see the tears in his eyes, causing the black to glisten a deep purple under the light.

With a sigh, Tyene replied: “her name was Viserra.”

He looked at her, waiting for her to elabourate, and so she reluctantly did, “I look a lot like her, only having the Rhoynar height and build from my paternal side, and my ‘viper-like eyes’. I was three when she passed away, and she would tell me stories of how she ran away, and ventured all through Essos, pretending to be a man as it was safer. She liked to ‘play characters’, like the Septa she once pretended to be, a sailor, a merchant.”

“She sounds like an interesting woman,” Jon said, imaging a woman just like Tyene laughing as she shifted between her made up characters, seeing the world. Jon would often long for the type of freedom that Viserra had clearly had, to just run away and forget about the fact that he was Ned Stark’s shame – a stain upon his honour – even if he was not treated like it.

“She was,” Tyene informed him, eyes vacant, clearly in the midst of a memory before she was soon jolted out of it, looking over his shoulder as she saw someone approach.

It was Artos. The boy had just come in from the entrance to the large, spacious room, confusing Jon as he had never realised that Artos had left. His older half brother leant down and whispered for him to follow him.

Reluctant to leave Tyene alone, Jon inquired, “why?”

Artos’ voice was, luckily, low enough so that neither Tyene nor the other dancers could hear him when he told Jon: “because I’m going to marry Daenerys, and I need you to be my witness.”

\----  
Ned

Ned and Oberyn had spent much of the night discussing the timber trade of the North and how Oberyn thought that should they decide to mine the Northern mountains, then they could prosper a lot more. Ned agreed with his evaluation, but Northern men were as resistant to change as their cold climate.

Occasionally, however, Ned’s glance would move around the room, and he felt regret pool in his stomach when he saw Daenerys and Artos dance. 

It was all too clear how they cared for one another, but Ned couldn’t betray Robert. While he and Robert were not on as good terms as they had been in their youth, the man still meant a lot to him.

Though so did his family. 

Robert, he reminded himself, had inappropriately talked to his wife, had condoned the murder of babes, had almost ordered the murder of Daenerys at barely a week old.

He sighed at his own internal debate, knowing that despite all of that, Robert was still like a brother to him.

He was grateful when he had the cause to laugh after overhearing Cersei and Arya’s conversation, having heard Cersei request that Arya go and ask Gendry to dance and his headstrong daughter’s reply being: “I don’t like to dance. And Genry’s an idiot.”

His eyes then flittered across the hall to where Raya stood, dancing with Jory Cassel’s son, a smile across her face as she was swirled; to Lyonel, whom stood with his nose buried in a book about the Reach, as Ned and Cersei had recently informed him that he is to be fostered there; to Aregelle, who giggled as she danced with Bran, whom was not exactly the most efficient dancer in contrast to Aregelle; to Rickon, whom busy looking worshippingly up at his older cousins; and little Leon, who was soon being take away by Aemma to get some rest as the time was getting on.

“Would you like to dance, Ned?” Cersei asked from beside him, offering one of her more rare, more genuine smiles. He also, however, noticed a degree of fear in her eyes, something that was rarely seen upon the lioness’ face.

None the less, he nodded, accepting her hand and standing up with a promise to resume his discussion with Prince Oberyn at a later date.

Despite having been together for more than sixteen years, Cersei was still as beautiful as she had been at Harrenhal; the curls of her hair had grown tighter, and he often longed to run his hands through them, and to run his hands across her. He smiled at her as she twirled, her red and gold dress spinning with her.

Ned Stark never noticed her glance over his shoulder at Artos and Jon leaving the hall, nor the way she bit her lip, worried that, when the husband whom she dearly loved found out about her deception, it would be the end of them; the slight regret, but determination it her eyes.

He only saw her smile, her laughter, he only saw the woman he loved so dearly; the only woman he had ever loved.

Sometimes, Ned Stark’s determination to try to see the best and believe that all people would and should keep to their honour bites him in the ass.

For at that very moment, his wife’s plotting was succeeding; and Princess Daenerys Targaryen was walking down, Aregelle Stark escorting her, and with Artos Stark – by his side, Jon Snow – awaiting her to wed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you guys want me to write smut or leave it out? Tell me below 'cus next chapter will start off with Daenerys/Artos :)


	6. the Dragon and the Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a marriage is created and consummated; Cersei lets Ned find out about her plot, but only so that her other one can go into action; a betrothal is forged and a visit from the King is declared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be in the cannon timeline
> 
> I didn't end up doing proper smut (as I didn't want to end up doing it really badly and spoiling the book) but I did do a little pre-smut sort of thing; I hope it's alright, I was trying to communicate how young and inexperienced they are as well :)

Chapter 6: the Dragon and the Wolf

Daenerys Targaryen grinned at Artos as her bridal cloak was removed by Aregelle, who had ‘given’ Daenerys after Arya had declared that weddings were not her thing, and was replaced by the heavy Stark cloak that Cersei Lannister, now Lady Stark, had once wore upon her very own wedding day.

Artos smiled down at her, brushing a strand of silver-gold from her eyes delicately as Jon – who was reading from a book of what they say in Northern marriages, which had caused much laughter from his mispronunciations – pronounced them as man and wife; as she was made Lady Daenerys Stark, ridding herself of the Targaryen name which had made others, even visiting Northern Lords, dislike her so.

She had tried to be proud of her name, she truly had, but all the cruelty she had received from harbouring it had diminished that, no matter how many times Cersei told her to have faith.

“Rise, Artos Stark and Daenerys Stark,” Jon prompted, smiling joyfully for his brother’s happiness as Artos tipped Daenerys into a long kiss.

Arya mimicked puking and stated, “there better not be a bedding ceremony. I refuse to rip someone’s clothes off or watch.”

Artos merely laughed ruffling his sister’s hair, though Daenerys could see the slight blush on his cheeks, one that mirrored her own, as he said: “no, little sister, there won’t be any stripping by others or watching.”

“Shall we go, husband mine?” Daenerys prompted with a grin, a childlike excitement gleaming within her amethyst eyes.

“We shall, dear wife,” Artos said back playfully, offering his arm out for her as the two left the forest; Aregelle, Arya and Jon watching in their wake.

\----

It wasn’t until they’d got back to Daenerys’ chambers – where they were least likely to be found – that the true nerves set in. In truth, despite a not very long talk from Cersei when she had flowered a year previously, Daenerys had little clue what to do; and neither had Artos, except for Theon’s tales. Through his adolescent years, he had been far too focused on Daenerys to act with any of the prostitutes at the taverns; though it was not for lack of Theon trying.

Surprisingly, Lyonel had more experience with such things than he did; and his brother was several years his younger. In fact, his brother was a mere one and ten!

Carefully, Artos lead her over to the bed, to where they both stood in front of it. He reached out a hand and tentatively stroked her cheek, and, to his surprise, she gently tugged him in and placed her soft lips upon his own.

Angling himself better, he deepened the kiss, his arms wrapping around Daenerys’ waist whilst hers went upon into his hair, pulling and toying and making him groan in desire.

Quickly, he lowered her onto the silk-sheeted bed, himself on top. When their kiss broke, both young teens eyes filled with the fear of displeasing the other, he noticed how truly beautiful she was for what must have been the hundredth time. Silver-gold hair sprayed out, amethyst eyes darkened, plump lips slightly bruised from their kissing. Attempting to keep his eyes away from her tempting lips, he inquired, “are you sure? We can wait if you-,”

“I’m sure,” Daenerys replied, smiling at him softly before reconnecting their lips; slowly, her hands travelled down until they met the laces of his trousers, his breath catching, Artos himself began to kiss the exposed parts of her neck, unsurely kissing and sucking at tender bits of skin, smirking when she moaned as he got to a particularly sensitive part, before arriving at the straps of her dress, and slowly beginning to pull them down with his teeth.

\----  
Ned

Ned panted heavily as release came for the fourth time, and as Cersei rolled off from on top of him and onto the smooth sheets of the bed. He turned his head to her, smiling at her smirk as she regarded with still ever so dark green eyes.

Taking a strand of golden hair and toying with it, earnest eyes looked up to her own, grey filled with the emotion that he spoke of: “I love you,” he told her, holding her soft hand within his rougher one.

“I love you too,” she replied, her eyes showing the emotion just as genuinely and raw as his own, but still they held the gleam of fear.

“What is it?” He finally inquired, growing too curious as to what his fearsome wife was afraid of, “why do you look so worried?”

Her eyes widened, and her mouth went to open, but, instead, their Maester came in just at the wrong moment, prompting both Cersei and Ned to cover themselves; though the Maester was not flustered, for he had walked in upon such a scene many, many a times and had helped with the birthing of all of Cersei and Ned’s children.

“My Lord,” the Maester began, his eyes worried, “Lord Artos’ bed chamber was unslept in, despite the fact that Lady Aregelle informed me last night that her brother had gone to bed early.”

Ned surged up in fear, heading towards the door, but stopped when he saw that Cersei wasn’t following him. If one of her cubs were in trouble, she would be the first to scream and demand that every single citizen of the North be looking for them, and yet she wasn’t. His eyes narrowed, Ned turned to Cersei and accused: “you know something more about this, something you’re not telling me.”

Cersei’s stare never faltered as she confessed her betrayal, “I knew that Artos was marrying Daenerys last night. I didn’t stop them because even you have seen that they care for – no, seven hells, love – each other. He’s most likely in her chambers, having consummated the marriage.”

Ned sighed out, aggravated, and slammed his fist into the wall. Robert. How would he take this? Would he accuse Ned of having orchestrated it all? Wanting his son and heir to marry the Princess Daenerys, therefore restoring the Targaryen dynasty, all along? For that to have been the reason that he protected the babe?

“How could you, Cersei?” Ned demanded, striding over to the bed angrily, completely having forgotten that he was exposing himself to the Maester, “you know how precarious my friendship with Robert is! You know what he means to me; he’s like a brother to me! He’ll think that I betrayed him.”

“He said ‘do with her what you will’ when he said we could take her North, he all but allowed you to marry Artos to her,” Cersei argued. Seeing Ned’s continued devastated expression, she continued with a softer tone, “we’ll have to assure him that we are no threat then.”

“How?” Ned demanded after a moment of glowering at the Lannister that was his wife.

“Marry Jon Snow to one of the Sand Snakes, Tyene Sand perhaps, he’s been getting along with her,” Cersei suggested innocently, “assure Robert that you are only after your children’s happiness, not status. Marry him – the secret Prince of the Seven Kingdoms – to a Dornish bastard.”

After what must have been a minute, Ned sighed and nodded, “I think that would be for the best.”

Cersei’s stomach pooled with a mixture of extreme guilt, and joy in her ambitions going all in the correct direction. She knew, however, that when Ned found out about Tyene being a Blackfyre; it would completely destroy their marriage.

“We’re not done with this conversation though, Cersei,” Ned warned, his tone angry. 

“That’s not all, My Lord,” the Maester informed him, head bowed low as he passed Ned his missive, to which the Lord of Winterfell read the letter before biting his lip to avoid him from screaming at his wife.

“Robert is riding North,” Ned informed Cersei, his tone breaking in fustrartion as he turned to leave his deceptive wife in his wake, “we will marry Jon and Tyene before he arrives. We will show him that the North is no threat.”

“Are you still giving the boy Sea Dragon Point? Is it prepared yet?” Cersei questioned, asking him of the area of the North that Ned had been preapring for Jon since the secret Prince’s boyhood, out of guilt of taking his chance to be on the throne.

Cersei had also been able to persuade him to pump the North’s extra funds into preparing Moat Calin for her Lyonel; Stony Shore for Rickon and the Gift for little Leon. To have their own house, each would have to choose a new house name (like Greystark and Karstark) but they would be Lords in their own right; they would have their own dynasty.

“Yes,” Ned told her stiffly, his delay displaying his hesitance in so much as talking to her, “it shall be ready by the year’s end. And, Cersei, Lyonel will be heading to the Reach before the King arrives, and Rickon will journey to the Vale with Prince Robin after the visit.”

And with that, Ned left, and Cersei drowned in despair. There was no denying that he was sending their children away so soon to punish her, but if she succeeded, then they would all be safe. They could all return.

Knowing she needed more allies in her endeavour, Cersei moved from the bed, ignoring the Maester being there, and sat shamelessly at the desk, grabbing a piece of paper and a seal. Goodness knows what Ned would do when he found out the extent of her betrayal, but he would definitely try to stop her scheming by taking away her means of communication, so she needed to set all the affairs in order now.

Olenna Tyrell, she knew, still had her eldest grandson – the Heir to Highgarden – unwed, and her niece, Lady Desmera Redwyne – daughter of the House with the largest, most formidable navy in all of Westeros – were unwed. And Raya and Lyonel would surely be good matches, especially as not only was Lyonel the second son of House Stark, but also would be Lord of the Gift.

\----  
Tyene

Tyene observed her father’s eager smile as he informed her of her betrothal to Jon Snow, the boy whose true name she knew to be Aegon Targaryen, and stated: “and you, my Sand Dragon, shall be Queen of all of Westeros.”

The silver-gold haired girl had always longed to be a Queen, a Queen to a warrior King who loved her so. And though Jon Snow wasn’t quite that King yet, she was sure that he could be in time.

However, she also felt annoyance. The rightful King that she would wed did not even know of his birthright, which he was more than old enough to know about, and she did not have the permission to inform Jon whom she truly was. She was not even meant to have told him that her mother’s name was Viserra, and was straight up banned from informing him that she was the warrior Lady Viserra Blackfyre.

And whether it was an arranged marriage or not, she would rather him know who she truly was.

He was a kind boy, too, if a bit sombre; her father had informed her that Rhaegar had been much the same. Her father, of course, had once been tense about having her wed to Jon after what happened to Elia, but after Tyene had reassured him that she wanted this, and that the path that Elia had been forced to take would be a constant reminder to her, a warning.

“That is brilliant news, father,” Tyene had eventually informed him, “does Jon know yet.”

“Nay, Jon is being informed as of right now,” Oberyn told her, a smile upon his face as he gazed down at his warrior Princess, Visenya reborn as he had once called her; just as Jon would be Aegon and Daenerys as a not-married-to-Aegon Rhaenys.

“I will find him afterwards then,” Tyene said, before heading out of the room and towards where she knew her sisters would be training. She and Nymeria had not sparred one another as of recently, and she could do with some practicing of the lance (her weakest weapon) against the overly skilled Elia Sand.

\----  
Daenerys

Daenerys breathed out a soft sigh as she focused upon the bulls-eye, slowly she drew the bow back and went to release the arrow. Only to have a hand wrap around her waist just as she went to fire, and had a head placed upon her own. 

Groaning in annoyance, she turned around suddenly, looking up at Artos with a slight glare and accusing, “you put me off my aim.”

“Am I really that distracting?” He inquired of her, and connecting their lips. She smiled as she kissed him back, before waiting to ask.

“What did Lord Eddard say when he called you to his office?” Her tone was concerned as she imagined Artos getting into trouble because of her.

“He was disappointed,” Artos stated with a sigh, “but it’s not like he can annul our marriage after last night,” both had blushes creeping up their cheeks, “though did inform me of how I am to blame of how he is now going to marry Jon to Tyene Sand to show Robert that we are not a threat.”

Daenerys gasped, not having seen such a marriage coming, and felt guilt building up inside her. Jon and her had always been more like siblings than any of the others, both outsiders, like Theon Greyjoy as well, though he refused to be associated with Jon and made Daenerys uncomfortable with him hitting on her constantly. Now, if he didn’t like Tyene, then she had made it so that he was forced into a marriage that he didn’t want.

“Don’t worry about it,” Artos attempted to soothe, “I’ve talked to Jon, he told me that he likes her well enough, though he’d never really thought about marriage or children or anything of the sort because of his bastard status. He told me to tell you not to feel guilty about it, okay?”

Daenerys nodded, though had decided that she would personally go and see Jon later, apologise and ensure that he wasn’t lying about ‘somewhat liking’ Tyene Sand.

“I’ve got other news as well,” Daenerys looked at him as a prompt to continue, “the King is coming to Winterfell, he shall be here within the month along with Queen Lysa, Prince Robin, Princess Cassana as well as Lady Catelyn Arryn’s family.”

Daenerys’ eyes widened in both surprise, fear and anger. She knew well that King Robert Baratheon had wanted her dead and buried when shew as a mere baby, goodness knows how he’d react now, she hoped that she didn’t look at all like her father, or her brother: Crown Prince Rhaegar. She also couldn’t help the all consuming anger that filled her.

This man killed Rhaegar, he sent her other brother – Viserys – fleeing for his life, he would of killed good Queen Rhaella Targaryen had he managed to find her alive, despite her having had nothing to do with Aerys’ love for fire and death. Because of him, her family had fell from power.

A warm hand enclosed itself around hers and she found solace within holding it, closed her eyes at the feel of the thumb rubbing over the back of her hand, leaving tingles in it’s wake.

“I won’t let him touch you, Daenerys,” Artos promised solemnly, and she had no doubt in his words with the conviction of them, “we’ll get through this.”

Daenerys couldn’t help the sinking feeling that this visit would be the beginning of the end.

That night, she dreamt of a robin bird falling from it’s nest, of a lioness locked in a cage, desperately trying to get out to where her cubs were being held captive and of a headless wolf.


	7. a Lioness Scorned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final betrayal is discovered, and a lioness is scorned; Lyonel heads to the Reach; a reveal from Tyene to Jon; news from Daenerys and Artos, and the King has arrived in the North.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating in a little while! I hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> I've also posted a new book - Song of Wolves; Dance of Dragons, that takes place before, during and after the Dance of Dragons, in which Artos Stark (a different Artos Stark, not the one from this book; I just like the name) marries Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen - so if you're interested then be sure to check it out!
> 
> Also, I've got my GCSE MOCKS coming up (I'm in Year 11 (English Schools) so I take my GCSEs this year, which get me into my Sixth Form) so updates will probably become more of a once a week thing now until mid-December, and then again from Feb/March-June.
> 
> Comment and leave Kudos if you like it! :)

Chapter 7: a Lioness Scorned

 

Cersei Stark

The marriage of Jon Snow to Tyene Sand occurred two weeks before the King’s arrival at Winterfell. Cersei Lannister had been at the heart of it all, helping Jon make a cloak for what his and Tyene’s new House would be (Darkfyre, it was to be called, and Cersei could see the Blackfyre girl’s hand in it; and she had seen the way that Ned had reacted to the name, but was unable to do anything about it unless he wanted to admit the truth) and assisting Tyene in designed her gown, and choosing what Jon would wear as the boy was incapable when it came to fasion (“black is my colour,” was his only comment with a small shrug).

Her plan, upon their wedding day, had come into motion and had been sealed. She had been even more overjoyed by the fact that they seemed to genuinely begin to care for one another, and then they had left for their wedding night. Like Artos, Jon refused to have people ripping at his and his new wife’s clothes and they simply left the hall.

Cersei had held Ned’s hand tightly, grasping it as if the tighter she squeezed, the better hold she would have upon him, for she feared losing him above anything else.

Also, her son, Lyonel, would be leaving for the Reach the following day. And so, despite his smiling murmers of embarrassment, she had made sure her golden haired, grey eyed son knew that she loved him oh so dearly, and that she would see him very soon.

She bit her lip to stop the tears from pouring down her face, and smiled at her son as he kindly wiped them away, “I love you, mother, never forget that.”

“And I love you, my brave red wolf,” she told him. In Winterfell, it seemed that each of the Stark children had their own wolf-themed nickname, just as Eddard (‘the quiet wolf’) and his siblings had before them.

Her Artos was ‘the Warrior Wolf’, her Raya was ‘the Fierce Wolf’, her Arya was ‘the Wild Wolf’, her Lyonel was ‘the Red Wolf’, her Aregelle was ‘the Beauteous Wolf’, her Rickon was ‘the Stubborn Wolf’ and her Leon was ‘the Young Wolf’ as he was the pup of the pack.

Her Lyonel was so much like her, hence why he earnt the ‘Red’ part of his nickname. And she had no doubt that he would be able to hold his own against the Queen of Thorns, and had to remind herself of how much she was sure that Lyonel would learn from the formidable woman.

Soon enough, however, Lyonel moved away to dance with an Umber girl whereas Cersei danced with her husband. She gazed into his grey eyes and hoped against hope that he would never find out; yet she knew that the truth always came out, this time, however, she hoped that it was later rather than sooner.

“What troubles you, my love?” Her wolf asked of his lioness, and yet she could do nothing but smile and lie.

“It is just that I will miss Lyonel, that is all.”

Ned held her tight, reassuring her, “we both will. And soon, he will be back to take charge of Moat Calin.”

\----

Tyene Darkfyre

Tyene awoke that morning, not sore in the slightest. She had been with men before, including Ser Daemon Sand, and had always taken moon tea. Her new husband had noticed but, luckily for Tyene, didn’t seem to damn her for it.

When her violet eyes were finally open, she spent the time surveying the room she was within, with the fine stonewalls, fire place in the far corner, grand tapestries and canopy bed. Everything seemed so different in the North than it had in Dorne, but she did not regret moving. 

She cared for Jon, more than she thought she would and was glad that she theorised that that care could perhaps turn to something more, and she also wanted vengeance for what had happened to her mother. Her father had refused to tell her how Viserra Blackfyre had died, but Arianne had.

Arianne informed her cousin that her mother had killed herself after the ending of her line, too long she had been alone without her father, Maelys, without her brothers who had all died fighting and then without her mother, Viserra’s mother having been Tyene Rogare of Lys, who was said to have died from a broken heart.

Viserra just couldn’t stand it anymore, not even for the babe she named after her mother, and jumped from a tower in Dorne. 

And Tyene would stop at nothing to continue her family’s wish to have a Blackfyre on the throne of Westeros.

“A coin for your thoughts?” Jon said, clearly awake now. She smiled slightly at him, his curly dark hair going in every which direction after having been yanked at during the midst of passion the night before. His eyes were slightly dazed, causing Tyene to grin momentarily at her handy work.

“There is something I wish to tell you,” Tyene informed him, deciding that she would, in fact, tell him of her mother. There was no use trying to learn to love someone who didn’t know the most important thing about you, “it’s about my mother.”

Jon sat up taller at that statement, and Tyene ignored the way that she simply wanted to gaze at his toned stomach. His dark indigo eyes seemed to prompt her, and she sighed, confiding in him, “in truth, I know more about my mother than I first told you,” she ignored the way his eyes shone with hurt, carrying on, “her full name was Viserra Blackfyre, the last of the mainline of House Blackfyre, and I am her Heir. I even have her sword.”

Jon sat back, stunned for a moment, before inquiring slowly, “and that is why you wished for our house to be called Darkfyre, to pay homage to your mother?”

Tyene forced herself to continue staring at him straight on, and nodded. 

Eventually, he also nodded, “we must continue to keep this a secret, for otherwise it is likely that King Robert will try to kill you.”

“You do not wish to change the name?” Tyene inquired, the answer was the one that she feared the most. She felt so close to her mother with the name ‘Darkfyre’ at the end of her name, and she wanted desperately to keep it.

Her new husband shook his head, “of course not. And plus, you chose the name; I chose the banner.”

Indeed he did. Their sigil was one of a winter rose with two golden spears grossed through it upon a white field. A sign of the North (the beautiful winter rose that Jon seemed so drawn to), a sign of House Martell (with the two spears, of which Jon had asked Prince Oberyn for permission to use, to help Tyene feel more at comfort with her new house, to which she had thought was remarkably sweet) and a sign of House Stark (the white field).

Already, her sigil, her house name, had become her own; just as they would become her children’s – well, until they took the Iron Throne anyway, in which case Tyene supposed that they would become House Targaryen once more.

“Now, is Lord Darkfyre tired out or…” Tyene began to question with a mischievous grin only for her new husband to pull her down upon him as she let out a giggle.

\----  
Ned

Ned Stark had been most surprised when, at an early hour just after Cersei had left to help Lyonel finish his packing, one of his guards, Desmond, burst in with a look of utter surprise and urgency upon his face.

Startled, Ned swiftly asked of the Guard, “what is it, Ser Desmond? Did you wake Jon and Lady Tyene?”

Ser Desmond let out a few heavy puffs of breath as he said, “I overheard Jon and Tyene, she told him that she’s the daughter of Viserra Blackfyre! And that’s why their House is called House Darkfyre!”

Ned felt a rage building up inside him with more ferocity than any other he had felt. He had told Cersei what his friendship with Robert meant to him, he had reprimanded her for Artos and Daenerys marriage and she had suggested Jon and Tyene’s marriage to ‘show Robert they were not a threat’. Instead, for her own greedy ambitions, she had made them even more of a threat.

His face icy, he turned to Ser Desmond and said, “tell no one of what you heard, I shall deal with it. If you utter a single word, your tongue will be cut from your mouth.”

Ser Desmond nodded, eyes wide, and left the room in a hurry whilst Ned headed down to the Courtyard. He would say goodbye to his son; and then he would decide what should be done about Cersei’s betrayal.

Jon and Tyene Blackfyre, Artos and Daenerys Stark, Arya, Aregelle, Rickon and Leon as well as Theon were all there to see Lyonel off. To his credit, his secondborn son did not cry until he embraced his twin sister, Arya. Despite all their bickering, Lyonel and Arya were as close as Jon and Artos, though Arya was, admittedly, also very fond of her ‘bastard brother’.

Trueborn cousin more like, Ned thought, cursing the luck that the Old Gods had given him.

When Cersei tried to reach for his hand, he moved his away, clearly surprising the once Lannister, instead he moved forwards a step and waited for his son to come to him.

“Look after yourself, Lyonel,” Ned said to his son, holding him tightly, “you will do great things; the Reach has so many things to offer.”

His son nodded, and gave him a watery smile, before he all but ran into his mother’s tearful embrace. Ned turned his gaze from their warm display of affection, he couldn’t see her being the side of her he loved above anything else, not now, not while he was so angry.

Soon enough, Lyonel was upon his horse and travelling away from them, each of his siblings and parents looking at his back mournfully. He didn’t look back once, and for that they were all grateful.

After all of the kids had left the Courts, off to do the Gods know what, Ned told Cersei to come with him, and they headed back to the Privacy of their own chamber.

“I know about Tyene being a Blackfyre, Cersei,” Ned watched as his wife went to object, but his glare momentarily silenced the lioness, “for your own selfish greed you went behind my back again! You have put Artos, Daenerys, Jon and Tyene all in danger in your selfish quest for power! Was nothing that you had with me, were none of your children good enough for you, Cersei? Enough for you?”

“You are all more than enough for me,” Cersei told him desperately, “you and the children are my world. I have come to see Jon as my son these years and it is his birthright to rule. He should have the throne! Yes, it suited what I wanted for Jon, for him to have his rightful place upon the Iron Throne, that Artos and Daenerys would marry but they were in love Ned! They would have married regardless of my interference! Don’t you think your nephew deserves his birthright? Or, at least, don’t you think he deserves to know what he’s had taken away from him? How would you feel if one of our children had Winterfell stolen from their grasp and growing up without ever knowing that it is their birth right, their ancestral home? What would Lyanna think about all of this?”

Cersei’s expression turned to apologetic when she saw the hurt on his face when she mentioned Lyanna. Her mouth opened to apologise, but, instead, Ned beat her to it, “get out,” he told her, his voice icy, “your chambers will be moved into the guest quarters until I change my mind. Go.”

“Ned, please, I love you,” Ned was almost moved by her words. Cersei is a proud woman, and if there was one thing she would never willingly do, it was beg. Never in any of their years of marriage had she begged. And yet here she was. But she was too late.

“Go.”

And so, the lioness from Casterly Rock fell from her position upon her Pride, and out of the grace of her beloved wolf.

\----  
Artos

When King Robert arrived, everything had already been prepared. The servants had spent the fortnight running around like mad animals, trying to make sure that everything was prepared for the royal family. Also, his mother had been finally moved back into the Main Keep, though not back to what had once been his father and mother’s shared chambers, but to the complete opposite end, right by Artos and Daenerys.

Often, at night, they could hear her weep. In a desperate try to make his mother happier, himself and Daenerys had taken it in turns spending time with her and doing various activities, and Artos could not help but be angry with his father. His father would not even tell them why his mother had earnt his anger, and yet scorned her fiercely.

As of the current moment, with the Royal Party entering through their gates, Cersei was the only person who knew about their suspicion of Daenerys being with child, and the very prospect had made his mother both elated and sad at the same time, though she would never answer his questions of ‘why’ for the second emotion that she had displayed upon her face the day that they had told her.

The King was nothing that Artos had expected him to be. When his cousin, Bran, had climbed down from the wall from where the young boy had been observing the approach of the royal party, Artos had been expecting a handsome, tall, warrior King like how his father had described the man at the Battle of the Trident, where in which he had slain Artos’ good brother, who had been a renowned warrior himself.

Instead, the King was a fat oaf who seemed to almost be squashing the horse that he sat upon, making Artos pity it. He, certainly, would rather be anything but that horse. 

The oaf King had help getting off by several of the men who had accompanied him, and he grinned at Ned Stark before pulling him into a hug.

Artos barely listened as the King of the Seven Kingdoms and his father spoke to one another, joking, by their laughing; or as the King complimented Lady Cersei’s immense beauty, for Artos was too busy squeezing Daenerys’ hand in comfort, who was clearly looking down at the floor to refrain from glowering at the man who had murdered her brother and had rejoiced at the deaths of her good sister, niece and nephew and mother. Whom had even almost ordered Daenerys herself to death when she had been only a small, innocent babe.

“You must be Artos,” the King said to Artos, grinning at the Heir to Winterfell, “a strapping boy, perfect mix of your mother and your father.”

He then looked over to Daenerys, and Artos felt himself tensing at the man’s bitter laugh and gaze of hatred, “and this must be your dragonspawn wife. I hope she’s good at bed, that’s all those dragons are good for, in fact, I bet they’re not even good at that.”

As the King laughed at his own joke, Daenerys had to grab the fuming Artos’ arm in order to stop him from marching over to where the King had moved onto Raya (“you’re your father’s daughter, and the younger one,” he had said to Raya and Arya, “only, luckily, you two are a lot prettier,” and then he had barked out a laugh once more) and attempting to stab him. 

“Leave him, Artos, it is not worth it,” Daenerys told him, though did not look at him, merely brought her gaze up from the floor and to looking forwards, into the distance, with determination, “I will not lose you as I did Rhaegar and his family and my mother; even Viserys, who is alive, has been taken from me.”

He nodded, closing his eyes and feeling relief only when Robert asked his father to take him to the crypts, to pay his respects which took him away from Daenerys. Ned, of course, took Robert as he asked.

Meanwhile, Artos took notice of the King who was left glaring after her husband. 

Queen Lysa was said to have once been a beautiful woman, with flowing auburn hair, a slender and graceful build and a lovely face. However, after years of miscarriages and pregnancies, her slender, graceful build had left her, her once bright blue eyes had turned dull and seemed to hide a lot of malice within them, and her small lips seemed to never smile.

By her side was a young boy. He looked very sickly, small for his age and remarkably thin with light brown hair – unlike both his parents – but with his mother’s watery blue eyes. The boy’s thin lips held a sneer upon them and he looked like a spoilt, arrogant little sod.

Princess Cassana most likely looked like her mother in her youth, with flowing auburn hair and a fair complexion, looking of delicate health but not as sickly as her older brother. She offered the Stark children a small smile before her mother grabbed her arm, hard, and began to lead them away. Her eyes, however, were not her mother’s or her father’s, but a grey-green colour.

There was not a trace of Robert Baratheon upon either of them, but Artos supposed that they should call themselves lucky. Neither of them should want to look like a kinslayer – after all, his grandmother had been Princess Rhaelle Targaryen – and a man that’s reign was built upon the death and exile of children.

Soon enough, Denaerys and Artos were heading inside, and Artos tried to ignore the fury that welled up inside of him with the fear – that Daenerys refused to admit to – being shown by her tight grip upon his arm. 

He could not phantom why his father was so adamantly loyal to such a man whom had tried to send a girl who he had raised like a daughter to her death; whom had been so degrading to his wife when she was in King’s Landing (many in the North had whispered of Robert Baratheon’s blatant invite for Lady Cersei Stark to have sex with him in his chambers).

Most of all, Artos couldn’t help but feel bad for Gendry whom had to be related to the Oaf. 

Gendry would make a far better King than Robert ever could, or this rather pathetic son of his, Crown Prince Robin. And Daenerys would make a far better Queen than any of them ever would.

Looking to Daenerys, he watched her frown that clearly portrayed worry be painted upon her face, as her spare hand went upon her abdomen. The Oaf would never lay a hand upon Daenerys so long as Artos drew breath, and certainly not upon their unborn child.


End file.
